The Sneaking Serpent Walks
by Shinysavage
Summary: AU. Book 2: Plagued by horrific dreams, and struggling to control his magic, Harry is looking forward to a peaceful year at Hogwarts. But a dreadful secret is beginning to uncoil…
1. Prologue: A Time For Family

**Harry Potter and the Second War: Book 2.**

**The Sneaking Serpent Walks**

**Disclaimer: **With apologies to J.K. Rowling and William Blake. I only own the bits you don't recognise.

**Summary:** And so begins year 2… As with book 1, the basic thread of the plot will be the same, but events and characters will be different, hopefully in a satisfying and enjoyable fashion. If you haven't read book 1 yet, certain plot strands won't make sense, so read that one first! The books title comes from _The Marriage of Heaven and Hell,_ by William Blake.

A/N: Just a quick reminder; italics indicate personal thoughts, Parseltongue or incantations. It should be obvious from the context which it will be.

**Prologue: A Time for Family**

It was raining in Surrey. This was actually quite unusual; so far, the summer had been glorious, brilliantly sunny without being too hot to do anything. The streets around Privet Drive were packed with schoolchildren celebrating the end of exams, counting down the days until they would be free of school for more than a month. This was perhaps more true in number 4 Privet Drive than elsewhere, as there were two children at Privet Drive, one of whom attended a prestigious boarding school on the coast of Scotland; his family – the Dursleys - were very much looking forward to his return.

However, while the rain may have been unusual, it was quite appropriate, given the conversation taking place in number 4.

The day before, the Dursley's nephew, Harry James Potter, had been involved in an unfortunate incident at his school. Harry being a wizard, and his school – Hogwarts – being the finest magical school in the country, 'unfortunate incidents' tended to be rather more dramatic than they would have been in the average Muggle school. In this particular instance, the 'unfortunate incident' was the attempted theft of a highly magical object known as the Philosopher's Stone; for a variety of reasons, Harry and his friends had taken it upon themselves to intervene. This had led to the dramatic and brutal death of the thief, a man named Quirrell, one of Harry's teachers.

He had been burned alive, from the inside out, leaving nothing but a pile of smoking ash. And it had been Harry who had done this.

Understandably, Vernon and Petunia Dursley, Harry's aunt and uncle, were rather worried about the effect this would have on their nephew. This concern was not helped by the knowledge that it was not the first 'unfortunate incident' Harry had been involved in over the course of the year. Before the first term had finished, Harry had been attacked by a troll, and had been badly injured. This had led to the discovery that his magical core was being obstructed by what was believed to be the remnant of the Dark magic that had given Harry his distinctive scar, resulting in occasionally dangerous uncontrolled outbursts of magic. And just before Easter, someone had tried to kill him, leaving Harry in a coma for over a month. Perhaps unsurprisingly, they were beginning to have severe doubts about the suitability of Hogwarts for their nephew's education, and it was only the certain knowledge that despite what might be called the little quirks in its day to day running, the actual magical education offered at Hogwarts was second to none.

And now, sitting in the Dursley's living room, was a man they did find it difficult to like; respect, certainly – they were well aware of the man's reputation in the magical world – but like… They found the man rather smug, too pleased with himself, even while admitting that it had been his spells that were responsible for several of Harry's more dangerous wounds. That said, there was no denying that Albus Dumbledore had done them a great service during his last conversation with Harry.

"That's right Mrs Dursley. Harry is under the impression that he has been protected, and will remain protected by his mother's sacrifice. Consequentially, he does not hold himself responsible for Professor Quirrell's death, holding it a tragic accident rather than something he had any control over. Naturally, now you know the truth you may of course pass this on to him at any time, but I believe it would be best for him to remain ignorant of the true cause of his teacher's death. He certainly seemed cheered by it." Petunia nodded vigorously.

"Oh of course Headmaster; it's just a bit of a shock to know Harry can actually do that to someone if he loses control. We'll definitely be a bit more careful about it from now on!"

"A wise precaution I'm sure – although it would be remiss of me not to point out that Harry will in theory be able to do that to anyone he chooses once he gains full control over his magic, which I hope he will do by the time he takes his O.W.L.s. However, I am sure that he will not wish to."

"I should certainly hope not! We've brought him up better than that sir!" Vernon spluttered. Dumbledore raised his hands in apology.

"I meant no offence Mister Dursley; I just wish you to be aware of the possible dangers. I know you have had problems with Harry's accidental magic before, and now that it seems to be getting stronger, I know that you might prefer a more…stable environment for Dudley."

There was a noticeable lowering of temperature. Petunia's eyes narrowed.

"We have been looking after Harry for ten years now Professor Dumbledore. Whatever the technicalities of our relationship, he is just as much our son as Dudley is. I would take it as a kindness if you would refrain from making such a suggestion again."

"Of course. I apologise Mrs Dursley, I just – well, perhaps we should move on." Petunia nodded coldly in agreement. "There is just one more thing before I leave you. As I mentioned earlier, Professor Quirrell believed himself to be acting in the service of Lord Voldemort. Now, while we have no definite evidence whether or not he actually was, it would perhaps be best to keep that little piece of information quiet. There would be an outcry if people believed that he was still alive, even if too weak to do anything at present. Sirius for one has never really been the same since his torture. I will be passing that advice onto Remus and Peter as well. It would be awful for him to have to live in fear once more."

Vernon and Petunia nodded. Even Petunia, who had not been all that fond of Sirius in his youth, had been horrified by the dramatic change in his personality after James and Lily's death. The dashing young man they had known had become a much more sombre, almost haunted person, although there was the occasional flash of the light-hearted prankster he had been.

"Don't worry. He won't hear about it from us Professor."

"Splendid! And now I really must be going. I hope you have a most enjoyable summer; I'm sure Harry is looking forward to seeing you again."

* * *

That had been three weeks ago. Now, it was yet another balmy day, the summer holiday was well under way, and Harry James Potter was thinking about more important things than malevolent teachers and whether, somewhere out there, there were the remnants of the Dark wizard who had tried to kill him as a baby; he was trying to avoid his cousin in the nearby park. Perhaps more specifically, trying to avoid being sprayed with the large water pistol Dudley was gleefully charging around in. Harry had one of his own of course, but he found the toy rather trickier to aim than a wand, and was quite definitely losing ground in the pitched battle they were engaged in.

Harry had a suspicion that his cousin was currently hiding behind the large oak tree in the middle of the park, not far from the swings. He cautiously crept towards it, preparing himself to leap around the other side…

There was no-one there. Harry stared. He had been so sure, almost as if he had known… Then he yelled out as a jet of water splashed into his back, spinning round, shooting water himself. The attack finished as Dudley doubled over with laughter, and Harry did have to admit he looked a mess. He squeezed some of the water from his t-shirt ruefully.

"I was so sure you were behind that tree you know Dud…"

"I was! But you make more noise than an elephant Harry, it's almost embarrassing."

"I do not make that much noise!"

"Do so."

"Don't"

"Do."

"Don't."

"Don't."

"Do… Damn it!" Dudley burst out laughing again as Harry scowled. "Come on, let's go and get changed; I'm soaking!

Harry and Dudley set off for their home, carrying on their childish argument as they did so. As they approached the house, they noticed a large black motorbike parked outside; a grin spread across Harry's face, and he ran indoors. Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, was in the living room, having a drink with Uncle Vernon. He looked up, grinning as he saw Harry dripping wet.

"Hey there kiddo! What _have _you been up to?"

"Dudley and I were having a water fight. How come you're here?"

"Oh, I was in London for some legal stuff with the Ministry, thought I'd pop in on the way back. What's the matter? Not pleased to see me?"

"Of course I am!"

"Harry, perhaps you ought to get changed before you come in here? Your aunt won't be happy if you drip water everywhere you know…"

"I'll be right back!

A few hours later, and the Dursleys, Harry and Sirius were seated round the dinner table, talking and laughing over Aunt Petunia's justly famous roast beef. Sirius was asking Harry and Dudley what they were planning on doing for their birthday celebrations. Harry smiled cheekily.

"Well, I've heard that Gilderoy Lockhart's doing a signing at Flourish and Blotts on the 3rd; maybe you'd take me to that?" Sirius scowled.

"Don't talk about that poncy little git – sorry Petunia – little so-and-so to me Harry. You know I don't like him!"

"Yeah, but it's funny to see you rant."

"Cheeky brat." Harry sniggered, but Dudley was looking confused.

"Who's Gilderoy Lockhart?"

"Gilderoy Lockhart is the most arrogant, self-centered, smug… twerp ever to walk the earth Dudley. He's published a series of very badly written books about how amazing and heroic he is, and because of this is almost as famous as Harry here. I wouldn't be surprised if the whole lot of it was a pack of lies – he was at Hogwarts when I was, a few years older than us. Not a very impressive figure at all; that smile he's so famous for is definitely the work of a Cosmetics charm or two!"

By now everyone was chuckling at Sirius.

After the meal, Sirius took Harry by the shoulder. "Can I have a quiet word Harry?" Harry nodded curiously, taking Sirius upstairs to his bedroom. Sirius closed the door, before sitting down on Harry's bed. He looked up at his godson, a small smile on his face.

"I haven't really had a chance to talk to you about last year yet Harry. I just wanted you to know that I'm very proud of you; you did magnificently! But the fact remains that you shouldn't have been there! You could have been killed! Quirrell wasn't worth that Harry. Did you even stop to think what might happen?"

"Of course, I – I just…" But Harry couldn't tell him why he'd been so desperate to stop Quirrell. Sirius was one of the many too scared to even utter the name Voldemort anymore, and with more reason than most. There was an unspoken pact to avoid all mention of him unless absolutely necessary whenever Sirius was around.

"I just wanted to do the right thing Sirius." His godfather grinned, shaking his head, almost sadly.

"You are _just _like James sometimes Harry you know that? I know what you were trying to do Harry, and I am very proud of you. Just… try and stay out of trouble this year? Please? Just for me, go on." Harry grinned, and nodded. Sirius pulled him into a hug, ruffling his hair as he did so. "Good boy."

Suddenly, Harry pulled away, his eyes shining. "I've got something to show you! I didn't get a chance over Christmas, and Easter was – well, I didn't get a chance. Recognise this?" With a flourish, he pulled his father's Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk. Sirius stared at it open-mouthed, before laughing loudly, sounding strangely as if he was barking.

"Where on earth did you get that from? I haven't seen it in years! The stuff we did under that cloak…"

"Dumbledore borrowed it from him before they died, he gave it me back last year. It's great isn't it? Just wandering round the school, knowing no-one can see you, it's so much fun!"

"We found out so much about the school you know – did we ever tell you about the Marauders Map? We made a map of the school, showed everyone in the school on it, all the secret passages we'd found… Filch confiscated it in the end, but it was really useful while we had it. It was your dad who did most of the actual construction though, he was really good at Transfiguration. Shame really, we could have made you another. Still," and here he winked at Harry, "at least you won't get caught while you're wandering around." Harry chuckled.

"I thought I was having a quiet, uneventful year?"

"There's a huge difference between breaking the rules and risking your life Harry. Although I suppose if McGonagall's still the same… No, there's definitely a difference Harry."

"Okay Sirius, if you insist…"

They returned downstairs, and shortly afterwards, Sirius bid them farewell, winking at Harry about a surprise for his birthday, and roared off into the night on his bike. Harry knew that as soon as he reached a quiet side-street, he would be flying high above the clouds. One by one, the Dursleys slowly made their way to bed.

* * *

_There was a brief scream, followed by a flash of green light. Lily Potter slumped to the floor with a quiet thud. His father was already dead, lying in the hall next to the open door. Harry stood in the corner, watching, unable to help them. There was a murky shape hovering over his mother's body; from the rest of the scene, Harry took it to be Voldemort. Presumably he was being obscured because Harry had no idea what he looked like._

_The shape walked – almost gliding – to the crib in the middle of the room, which Harry knew was where he, baby-Harry would be. Voldemort stared down into the crib as the baby started crying. He raised his wand, and uttered the incantation 'Avada Kedavra!' Even in the dream, Harry could feel the sickening pulse of truly Dark magic. Suddenly, the curse rebounded from Harry's younger self, striking him in the middle of the face. There was a blinding flash, more white light, a deafening explosion; when the smoke cleared, Harry walked over to the crib he had slept in as a baby. He looked into, curiously. There he was, bleeding from the forehead as the famous lightning scar came into being, crying loudly at the pain and from the exposure to the wind. Harry reached down and put his hand over the scar, as if trying to remove it before it became permanent. Baby-Harry stopped crying suddenly, unscrewing his eyes to stare back at dream-Harry._

_The baby's eyes were red. _

_Harry recoiled in horror, and the baby started to cry again. Harry staggered back to the wall, everything beginning to pale as the dream world faded around him. He tripped over some debris, and fell back, through the fading wall. He let out a shout – _

And sat up in bed, sweat pouring off him. He fumbled for his glasses, putting them on one handed as he flicked on the light, stumbling to the mirror on his desk. He stared into it intently.

Green. His eyes were definitely green.

He sat down on the bed, breathing heavily. He had had nightmares about his parent's murder before, but never like that! Before, he had always just heard a scream, and seen a flash of green light. What was worse, it was not the first time he had seen himself with red eyes; when he had woken up after the attack in the Forbidden Forest, he had seen red eyes in the mirror in the Hospital Wing. He had told no-one of this, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, even to himself. Now that he came to think about it, that in itself was quite suspicious…

He ran his fingers through his hair wearily. It was far too early to think about such things, and he forced his breathing to calm. He left his bedroom, walking to the bathroom to wash the sweat off his face. As he rinsed himself off, he winced. There was a dull ache in the centre of his chest, and he rubbed it distractedly. Outside the bathroom, a light clicked on, and Aunt Petunia looked round the door.

"Harry dear? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine; just a bad dream. Halloween." His aunt nodded understandingly.

"Are you going to be ok?"

"Yeah, I'm just going back to bed. Don't worry." His aunt studied him, before nodding.

"If you're sure. Sleep tight Harry." Harry wandered back to his bedroom, and paused in the doorway. He sighed loudly, and Aunt Petunia hurried down the landing to him.

"What's wrong? Oh…" They both looked round the room in silence. When Harry had gone to bed, the room had been a pale, creamy colour. Now the walls were a dark shade of blue. At least that explained the pain in his chest. Harry shrugged, and turned to his aunt.

"Blue's a nice colour at least…"

* * *

A/N: Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated! 


	2. A Serpent Tongued Conversationalist

A/N: Lockhart's speech is almost word-for-word from the book.

**Chapter 1: A Serpent-tongued Conversationalist**

"Happy Birthday Harry! Now get yourself downstairs you lazy pig!"

Dudley ran off, leaving Harry to crawl out of bed. He quickly got himself ready for the day, a nervous eye on the mirror on his desk. It had been three weeks since the nightmare, but the idea he would one day wake up with red eyes and a cold smile had haunted his waking hours ever since. He consciously shoved the memory to the back of his mind, forcing himself to think of happier things… his birthday for instance. He had a sneaking suspicion that he would only be getting one gift from his guardians this year, and he couldn't wait to open it.

Showered, dressed, and definitely green-eyed, Harry hurried downstairs to his family. He had been right; amongst the presents from his family was a long, thin box. He opened the other presents first – a Lord of the Rings collection from Dudley (amusing because of the thinly veiled magical history passed off as fantasy by the Squib author) and some new clothes from his Aunt and Uncle – expressing appropriate gratitude, before turning to the package. he carefully – reverently – tore the paper off, revealing a box, with a single word inscribed in gold: Nimbus.

A smile lighting his face, he opened the box, to find a long, beautifully carved, top-of-the-range Nimbus 2001 broomstick. He lifted it from the box, feeling the magic imbued in it ripple through his hands, flooding him with warmth. His smile turned to a fully-fledged grin, his eyes practically glowing with excitement. He uttered one word:

"Awesome!"

There was a note with the box. Harry picked it up, quickly scanning it.

_Dear Harry,_

_HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!_

_We'll see you later, but for now; you'd better put this to good use, or else!_

_Yours truly (with a vague sense of menace)_

_Messrs Padfoot, Moony and Wormtail._

"Your school list has arrived as well Harry."

His aunt passed over the Hogwarts envelope, and Harry tore it open. Apart from the usual stuff about the train times, there was the entire Gilderoy Lockhart collection as set texts for Defence against the Dark Arts. Harry raised an eyebrow; he'd never read them himself, objecting to the emphasis on glossy photos of – the admittedly handsome – Lockhart over a serious study of defence, and of course Sirius' rather vocal criticisms, and he seriously hoped they were better than they appeared. He really wanted a decent Defence lesson this year, the previous years having been a joke for one reason or another.

As Harry read the letter, Dudley started poring over the broom as well. While not as much of a fan of Quidditch as Harry, he was well aware of the quality of the broom. He looked up at his cousin.

"You have _got _to let me watch you on this Harry, I bet you'll go like a rocket!" Harry grinned, standing and grabbing the broom, dragging Dudley out to the back garden –

"Hang on boys! You can't fly it out there Harry, people would see. And that would not be a good idea would it?"

Harry's shoulders slumped in disappointment.

"I guess…"

"Oh don't look so miserable, you're going to the Weasley's in a few days, you can fly it there. Now go and get your shoes on, London awaits our presence!"

* * *

A week later, and Harry was being driven through the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, home of the Weasley family. Just on the outskirts of the village was a memorial plaque, warded against Muggle attention, fixed to a giant tree by the side of a river; the site of the brutal murder of Gideon and Fabian Prewitt, Molly Weasley's brothers, by five Death Eaters. Harry avoided it on his visits to his friends. Several years ago he had had an outburst of uncontrolled magic there; ever since, he had been able to smell, faintly, the foulness of the Killing Curses that had been cast. He had never told the Weasley's.

A few minutes out if the village, in the open countryside, lay the Burrow, the Weasley's home. It was a towering, ramshackle building, that like a lot of magical construction, seemed to defy the laws of physics and gravity to stay up. Uncle Vernon pulled up at the gate, before helping Harry to the front door with his bags. Harry knocked on the door, resulting in a loud crash somewhere in the house. Harry and his uncle exchanged a glance. Then the door opened, revealing Mrs Weasley, looking even more harassed than usual.

"Harry dear, come on in! Sorry about the racket, the twins have been badgering the ghoul, they've upset him terribly poor thing… Anyway, how are you? Would either of you like a drink? Piece of cake? RON!! He's just coming dear, sit down do…"

"I'm fine Mrs Weasley, thanks." Harry said, looking at his uncle out of the corner out of his eye. He knew that his uncle found Molly Weasley more of a force of nature than a person, and sure enough, there was a slightly stunned look in his eyes. He looked back at Mrs Weasley, who was bustling around the kitchen. "How's your summer going?"

"Oh fine, fine, although the children are suffering cabin fever a little bless them; Ginny can't wait to go to Hogwarts with the others, she's so looking forward to it. RON!! HARRY'S HERE!! What is that boy doing…?"

There was a loud thump, followed by a clatter of feet coming downstairs, and Ron and Ginny appeared in the kitchen door, huge grins on their faces. Ron stepped forward, clapping Harry on the back.

"Hey there mate, great to see you!"

They both started pulling Harry out of the room, and he waved vaguely at Uncle Vernon as they mounted the stairs. As they reached the second floor, a door opened, and Percy appeared, a heavy frown on his face, Prefect badge still pinned to his jumper to Harry's astonishment.

"Ron, will you tell those two to keep quiet, I'm busy! Hello Harry." And he disappeared back into his room. Ginny stuck her tongue out at the closing door, and they headed on up.

"Sorry about that Harry, he's been weird all summer – Merlin knows what he's up to in there, but he barely comes out. Still, he's boring, so no great loss eh? Ow!" Ginny poked her brother sharply in the side.

"Don't say that! Just because he won't play you at chess anymore!"

"Oh well, that's no surprise – there isn't anyone in Gryffindor who'll play him at chess now. Are we all boring Ron?"

"It's not that! Well, not totally anyway… But he's always locked up in his room, reading – there're hundreds of better things he could be doing!"

Harry looked at him.

"I'll tell Hermione you said that."

Ron went pale.

"Don't. Seriously, she's already annoyed with me 'cause I haven't been slaving over the holiday work, very angry letter she sent me."

Harry and Ginny looked at each other, grinning.

"Blackmail." They said, simultaneously. Ron just glared at them.

They quickly dumped Harry's things in Ron's room – still very untidy, hideously orange and plastered with posters of the Chudley Cannons, the worst team in the Quidditch league – and headed back downstairs with his new broom, pausing only to bang on the twins door, calling 'Quidditch'.

Not far away from the Burrow, a fair distance from the village, was a small paddock, in the middle of a copse. It was mainly used for flying practice, and it was here that Harry and the Weasleys' ran, broomsticks over their shoulders and a bag of golf balls in hand. When they arrived, Harry was pushed into the middle, and the others stood looking at him, arms folded.

"Right Harry," said George.

"It's time"

"For you"

"To show us"

"What this thing can do!" Harry grinned, before holding his hand over his broom.

"Up!" The broom shot up into his hand, and again, Harry felt the magic rippling through him. Ron, the twins and Ginny started slow-clapping, urging him to start flying. He swung a leg over…

And before he knew it, he was twenty feet up in the air, wind rushing through his hair, and an almost manic grin on his face. His friends were cheering below him. He hovered for a moment, before tilting the Nimbus downwards, descending at an incredible pace, pulling out of the dive at the last possible moment, just hearing Fred and George's whoop as he zipped past. As he went up again, he heard Ginny calling him; he looked down to see her throwing a golf ball over to his right. A twitch of the broom and he was whipping towards it, snatching it out of the air just as it began its descent. He floated back down uncharacteristically slowly, a broad grin on his face. Fred and George were practically jumping in excitement.

"That was"

"Bloody awesome!"

"The cup's ours for sure!" Harry grinned, before holding the broom out.

"So… Who else wants a go?"

* * *

A few days later, and Harry and the Weasley's were getting ready to go to Diagon Alley. Fred and George had poured scorn on the selection of Lockhart's books as textbooks (although notably not in their mother's presence), but there had been a false note in it; the books were expensive, and Ginny needed everything else on top of them. Harry felt a twinge of guilt about the small fortune he had inherited from his parents, but knew from experience that even the suggestion of charity would be greeted with, at best, a frosty silence.

They all gathered round the fireplace, getting ready to Floo to the Leaky Cauldron, where they were meeting the Marauders. Ginny was practically glowing, hugely excited about getting her first wand. Mrs Weasley brought round the pot of powder, everyone taking a pinch. Harry looked at his with distaste; he loathed travelling by Floo. It might be much, much quicker than any form of Muggle transport, but it was much, much less comfortable. And he could never get out of the fireplace without losing his balance quite spectacularly, much to his embarrassment.

One by one, they all disappeared into the fireplace, calling out '_**Diagon Alley"**_ loudly and carefully. It eventually came to Harry's turn. As he threw in his powder, the ghoul started clanking around, rattling the chimney. He stepped into the fire, calling out "_**Diagon**_ –" when the rattling dislodged a lot of soot, landing on his head, choking him. The rest of the sentence came out very garbled, but he still disappeared in a flash of green fire. Mr and Mrs Weasley looked at each other.

"Did he say 'Diagon Alley' or 'diagonally'?"

"I'm not sure darling. Oh dear" Mr Weasley replied, looking pensively at the fireplace. Ginny started to snigger quietly into her hand.

* * *

Harry was surrounded by green flames, warm but not burning him. He began to feel the nausea Floo travel always inspired in him, not helped by the feeling that he was being whirled around an enormous plughole. He suddenly began to feel as if icy hands were hitting him, the sign that he was nearly there; he could just see a stone floor… and then he was thrown from the fire, hitting the floor hard, his glasses cracking as he did so.

He looked around him, letting out a sigh as he did so. There was no sign of Ron, Fred or George, and he had never been to wherever here was before. He'd always been bad at Flooing, but this was truly special. Actually, special was completely the wrong word he realised, looking at the items on the shelves. If this was a shop, then it was definitely not somewhere a respectable light wizard would be seen, and he suspected there were very few dark wizards who would be either. He walked through the shop, glancing at the merchandise with a sickened feeling. Shrunken heads, a withered hand – _'Hand of Glory, best friend of thieves and plunderers: 45 Galleons'_ – several Harlequin masks, warped from their usual cheery grin to a horrible leer, a dusty silver stake, still bloody from its last kill.

A noise on the other side of the aisle startled him; he jumped back, looking through the shelves at the figure on the other side. It was a lanky, hunched man, who reminded him of Professor Snape; they had the same greasy hair and piercing eyes. The man was muttering to himself, although Harry couldn't make out what he was saying. Suddenly the bell over the door rang. The man behind the shelf moved forward, speaking in an oily voice. Someone replied, sounding vaguely familiar, but Harry still could not make out what was being said. He moved further along the aisle, seeing a beautiful dagger from the corner of his eye, silver, with a snake carved in gold around the hilt. He stopped to admire it for a second, before carrying on, when he heard someone say something behind him. He whirled round, but there was no-one there. He drew his wand, already worried by the contents of the horrible shop, and feeling no better about strange voices, when he heard it again.

"_Hello there Mighty One." _Harry looked at the dagger again. The snake's lips were moving!

"_It's been years since anyone's really looked at me you know. What's your name?"_

"_Harry. Harry Potter. Er… How can you talk?"_

"_My creator was fond of snakes, and a sufficiently powerful and talented wizard to work the magic allowing me speech. Of course, there are few who can speak to me in Parseltongue. You have a good command of the language for a young one."_

A shiver went down Harry's spine. Parseltongue! The language of snakes, and one of the most feared – and rarest - abilities in the magical world. The most famous Parselmouth had been Salazar Slytherin, widely seen as one of the Darkest Wizards to walk the earth; a misconception, although it was true to say he wasn't a very nice person in the slightest. But while Harry was willing to see the good in pretty much anyone or anything, he couldn't see anything good about being a Parselmouth. There was no magic associated with it for anything but pain and death, and snakes had often been used in Dark rituals. He felt sick.

"_Young one? You smell of fear. You should not be here should you?"_

"_No… And – and I didn't know I was a Parselmouth. It's… it's a bit of a shock."_

The snake sighed, a strangely sinister sound when made by a mouth designed only for hissing.

"_I can imagine. And presumably you feel dirty, as if it's a stain on your soul. Fool. It's a shame, you seem otherwise intelligent, and while I can have a very intellectual conversation by myself, it would be nice to gain another's perspective. Come back and see me when you've come to your senses Mighty One… And do it soon."_

With that, the snake stilled, although its tongue still flickered out a couple of times. Harry stood, frozen in shock for several moments, until he heard footsteps. He quickly ducked inside a nearby cabinet, not stopping to think about what it might have been used for until he was inside. Through the slats, he could see the man he had seen through the shelves – the owner presumably – and another man, a man with long blond hair and cold grey eyes.

Lucius Malfoy.

Harry sighed in relief. While he wasn't especially fond of the Pureblood Lord, he was at least a recognisable, trustworthy figure in a strange and scary environment. The two men were haggling over the price of a dusty book; it looked as if it would give Harry nightmares from the cover. Harry heard the name Borgin mentioned, and he realised where he was. Borgin and Burkes was a shop in Knockturn Alley, one of the less salubrious areas of the dimensional extension housing Diagon Alley and the Ministry. At least he wasn't far from where he was supposed to be. Malfoy and Borgin settled on a price – the look on Borgin's face suggesting he wasn't too impressed with the bargain, but didn't dare complain – and moved back towards the front of the shop. Harry followed, and as Mr Borgin went into the back room, followed Malfoy out of the door.

"Mr Malfoy!" The elegant figure turned round, hand going to his wand, but the grey eyes widened in surprised recognition at the sight of Harry.

"Master Potter, what brings you to this corner of the world? I wouldn't have expected to see someone of your… reputation in Knockturn Alley." Harry blushed.

"I missed my grate in the Floo – I was supposed to be going to Diagon Alley." Malfoy smirked – Harry hated the way the Malfoy's smirked – and bowed to him.

"Then you must follow me Master Potter. It would be a shame if you were to get lost in here would it not?" Harry blushed again, and followed Malfoy as he set off. As they walked, he couldn't help but look around him in curiosity; he had never been in Knockturn Alley, and while some of the merchandise in Borgin and Burke's had repulsed him, there was an undeniable fascination about the area, with sinister looking tools, and dusty books displayed in shop windows that Harry was sure would be full of information not even the Restricted Section at Hogwarts would contain.

Of course, it wasn't just for sinister potions and books people came to Knockturn Alley. There were several wizards and witches wearing clothes that only had the vaguest relation to robes, and certainly didn't look that warm; one blew a mocking kiss at Harry, and he flushed, averting his eyes. Sniggers followed him for a short distance. Soon, Harry could see the pale dome of Gringotts rising over the rooftops, and he let out a sigh of relief. As they emerged into the sunlight, someone called his name, and he turned round just in time to see someone connected to a mass of brown bushy hair flying towards him, which could only be Hermione Granger.

"What have you been doing Harry, you're filthy – and what have you done to your glasses? Oh, it's so good to see you again!" Malfoy's lips twitched in the beginnings of a sneer. Hermione was clearly a Muggleborn; while the Weasley children might dress in jeans, they wore casual robes over them. Hermione was simply in jeans and a jumper, plainly not up to date with magical fashion. Harry hurriedly introduced them. Lucius sketched an ironic bow; as he stood up, a look of disgust spread across his face. Harry and Hermione turned round to see the Weasley's running towards them.

"Ah Harry, splendid, we hoped you'd only gone one grate too far – and you must be Hermione, delighted to meet you. Oh… Hello Lucius." Arthur and Lucius nodded at each other coldly. The Weasley children, Harry and Hermione looked at each other in embarrassment, and the twins motioned the others to move. They walked off, Harry pausing only to mutter his thanks to Lucius.

"A pleasure and a privilege Master Potter. See you soon."

And he turned, with a sweep of his long black velvet robes, striding off down the street. Arthur turned to look at Harry, taking out his wand and tapping Harry's glasses to repair them.

"Are you sure you're ok Harry?"

"I'm fine Mr Weasley; a little creeped out by Knockturn Alley though!"

"Oh Lord… Don't tell the twins you've been down there will you? There'd be no stopping them! Anyway, we're meeting in Flourish and Blotts in an hour; Molly wants to go to the Lockhart signing."

Mr Weasley rolled his eyes. Harry grinned, before jogging off after his friends. They spent a delightful twenty minutes at Florean Fortescue's, gulping down a couple of ice-creams each. Then Fred and George disappeared with a friend from Hogwarts, and Harry, Ron and Hermione carried on wandering round. Hermione was speculating about possibly getting an owl, so they stepped inside the Magical Menagerie. While Hermione looked at the selection, with advice from Ron, Harry wandered around the shop. At the back of the shop, there was a large glass tank, with several rocks and pieces of wood inside. Harry looked curiously at it, gasping as a large snake uncoiled itself. Harry looked around quickly; Ron and Hermione were now looking at other animals, and the shopkeeper was with them. No-one else was in the shop. He lowered his head to the tank.

"Hello?"

Nothing happened. The snake didn't even look at him. Harry frowned, and tried again.

"He_llo"_

Something seemed to have happened; the snake looked up as he finished speaking. He vaguely heard the bell ring, someone speaking, but he spoke again.

"_Hello?"_

"_Hello friend. What can I do for you?"_

"_I… I spoke to a snake earlier, and I wanted to see if I could do it again."_

"_And that's reason enough to disturb me is it? Satisfied now young master? Anything else I can do for you? Perhaps I should do some acrobatics for your amusement!"_

"_Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude…"_

"_Hm. Go away little boy; I'm sleepy, and you aren't very interesting."_

Harry stared at the snake in astonishment, before turning around – to see Remus looking at him in shock. Harry froze, before darting round his guardian, walking over to Ron and Hermione. Hermione had just decided to leave without making a purchase, and they left before Remus could say anything to Harry.

The trio wandered around further – Harry silent, worrying about Remus – badgering Percy (reading an intensely dull-looking book in a junk shop) and laughing at the twins flagrant abuse of the Gambol and Japes 'try before you buy' scheme, before heading to Flourish and Blotts. There was already a lengthy queue coming out of the shop, and they spotted Mrs Weasley, Ginny, and the Marauders all standing together near the door. Remus was looking rather nervous. They hurried over to stand together, Harry avoiding Remus' eyes. Mrs Weasley was looking very excited.

The shop was filled with posters of Lockhart, all grinning toothily, with a cheeky glint in his eye. Whenever an attractive woman walked past – whenever any woman walked past, ugly or attractive – the pictures would bow politely. Most of the women in the shop were giggling girlishly; most of the men had rather dazed expressions, as if they didn't really want to be there. In the middle of the shop was a table, with a large stack of books on; Lockhart was sat behind them, his long blond hair curled back, and wearing beautifully cut blue robes, the same shade as his eyes.

Harry thought he looked ridiculous.

The queue meandered slowly onwards. Lockhart spent several minutes with each customer; he did at least know how to work with people, as each customer went away with fervent adoration glowing in their eyes. Eventually it was Mrs Weasley's turn, and she scurried up while the others stood around looking bored. A minute or so of inconsequential chatter, and Mrs Weasley moved, revealing Harry to Lockhart.

The blond wizard's eyes widened in something like glee, before standing up, calling Harry over to him in a loud voice. Harry just stood there, reluctant to move, but then Lockhart's publicist popped up behind him, pushing him forward. Lockhart laid an immaculately manicured hand on Harry's shoulder, turning to the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, what an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!"

The crowd hushed expectantly; someone with a camera popped up, smoke billowing from the flash. Lockhart bent over slightly to Harry.

"Nice big smile Harry" he whispered. "Together you and I are worth the front page."

"Yes ladies and gentleman, when young Harry stepped in this fine establishment today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography – which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge – he had no idea that he would shortly be getting much more than my book. He and his school fellows will in fact be getting the real, magical me. Yes, I have great pleasure – not to say pride – in announcing that this September I shall be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

There was a deafening roar of applause, although Harry could just see his friends either sniggering or scowling – he himself had a deeply annoyed expression on his face. Lockhart thrust his entire literary collection into Harry's arms, before gently shoving him away. Harry dropped them into Ginny's cauldron, still scowling.

"You can have these, I'll get my own – smug little git… Hang on, where'd Sirius go?"

They turned round, spotting Sirius making his way towards Lockhart's table. Harry groaned. Sirius tapped Lockhart on the shoulder.

"Don't you think you should ask people's permission before you start taking advantage of their fame Lockhart?"

Lockhart looked up, an uncharacteristic sneer warping his face.

"It's Sirius Black isn't it? Well, I'll be laid to rest in a wooden box before I take advice from a wizard of such a Dark background as yours!"

A mask of rage flashed across Sirius' face, and he reached for his wand. Fortunately, Peter had reached him, and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him away. Lockhart looked on, a smug expression on his face. Harry looked at the twins.

"So, you'll be pranking him a lot this year then?"

"Oh yes indeed young Harry!" they said simultaneously, evil grins plastered on their faces.

They made their way out of the shop, following the Marauders. Sirius was ranting about Lockhart's comment.

"Slimy little toe-rag, I should have cursed him senseless! He always was a little snake…"

Harry flinched at this choice of word; Remus looked at him pointedly. Harry looked away, sighing. That was not a conversation he was looking forward to.

* * *

A/N: Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated! 


	3. Back to Hogwarts

**Chapter 2: Back to Hogwarts**

Harry was in his bedroom, reading a textbook intently. While this wasn't quite as unusual a sight as it would have been with, for instance, Ron, it was unusual to see him focus quite so much on a textbook that wasn't to do with flying, Defence or Transfiguration. The book he was reading concerned the history of magic, a subject Harry had found rather tedious even before he started getting lessons in it from Professor Binns, who was – as the traditional, rather tired joke had it – literally dead boring.

However, the book did contain some information on Parseltongue and Parselmouths. As Harry had suspected, all the ones mentioned were paragons of Darkness, some of them engaging in activities that would have sickened Death Eaters. Naturally, several pages were devoted to Salazar Slytherin, famous Parselmouth, infamous dark wizard and no friend to Muggles. At least the book acknowledged that Slytherin had been dark and not Dark; not enough people admitted that there was a difference these days, which resulted in the universal distrust of Slytherin House.

That said, if the book was accurate (and that could never be certain when dealing with the lives of wizards dead nearly a thousand years ago) then Slytherin had never found a socially acceptable use for the language of snakes. There were apparently several very, very nasty curses that could be used, and as for the rituals which could be conducted in Parseltongue… Harry's eyes widened as he read the relevant passage, before he slammed the book shut in disgust.

Merlin. None of the books he'd consulted had offered anything positive about his situation, and it wasn't really something he could talk about. He thought it might have been bearable if snakes were actually worth talking to; his recent experiences in Diagon Alley suggested he might get less offensive conversation from Crabbe and Goyle, two Slytherin students renowned for an approach to life best described as 'punch first, second, third and then grunt impressively'.

That said, he was more worried about another factor.

Remus still hadn't been to see him.

That hurt most of all. Being a Parselmouth he could probably deal with; avoid ever speaking to snakes, and never try and learn the extremely Dark magic that seemed to accompany it, and it wouldn't be a problem. None of his friends knew, so it wouldn't be a problem with them. But Remus… He loved the Dursleys very much, and he was extremely fond of Sirius and Peter but… The Dursleys wouldn't have a clue if he went to them with a magical problem; Sirius was great fun, but hardly someone to go to with your deepest, most worrying problems; and Peter was a little intimidating. Harry wasn't certain what had happened to him to change him from the fun-loving boy he had been at Hogwarts to the sombre figure he cut now, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. But Remus was a guiding light in Harry's life; knowledgeable, kind and world-wise, and always friendly with his advice, even if he was advising Harry on correcting some monumental screw-up. Harry wasn't sure how he would face later life if he didn't have Remus to turn to in times of need.

Of course, he didn't particularly want to talk to Remus about being a Parselmouth, but the fact that his guardian was apparently too scared – or appalled – to even talk to him did nothing to calm his thoughts.

Harry rolled over in frustration, silently cursing his skill with the Floo. He would never have known he was a Parselmouth if he hadn't ended up in that shop – where else would he overhear a snake talking? He had seen plenty of snakes, and they had never spoken to him – apart from at the zoo, the previous summer. But he had been to the zoo plenty of times, and had seen snakes in magical shops; none had ever shown the slightest inclination to talk to him. Perhaps snakes just weren't naturally talkative.

He stood up to get ready for bed, silently vowing to himself that he would clear the air between himself and Remus; uncomfortable conversation or not, he wanted to know precisely where they stood.

* * *

As it happened, Remus turned up a few days later, showing up at the park where Harry was watching Dudley play football with some other local boys; Harry personally found the sport almost as incomprehensible as most people would find Parseltongue.

"Harry!"

Harry turned round, acknowledging his guardian with a tentative wave. Remus looked cheerful enough… Remus sat down next to him, looking over the pitch.

"How's the match going?"

Harry shrugged.

"Dudley's been cheering a lot; I assume that means his teams winning – he's having fun anyway."

"And how are you?"

"I'm fine, just a bit bored – I've never understood this game."

"Why do you come then?"

"He's my cousin; he supports me when I fence, and I'm fairly sure he doesn't understand that."

"Ah well, most wizards wouldn't understand the point of a swordfight where you aren't allowed to draw blood – rather removes the point of it in their view!"

Harry smiled. Remus looked at him, then sighed.

"I'm glad I found you here actually Harry."

"This is about the pet-shop right?"

"Yes… How long have you known?"

"Since about an hour before you found out." Seeing Remus' surprised look, Harry elaborated. "The shop I Flooed into, Borgin and Burke's; there was this dagger, it had an enchanted snake on it. It just sort of called out to me. I thought I'd try it on a real snake in the pet-shop, which is when you saw me. I'm really sorry Remus."

This drew a look of surprise.

"What for?"

"I'm a Parselmouth! That's about as Dark as you can get!"

"Oh don't be bloody ridiculous Harry! It's a language, not a spell! You wouldn't go round saying someone was evil because they spoke Greek would you?"

"Well… no, I guess not…"

"Precisely! All right, I grant you all the famous Parselmouths are Dark, but that's what, five people? Do you really think that there've only been six Parselmouths over the last thousand years? Slytherin isn't famous for being a Parselmouth Harry, he's famous for being generally one of the nastiest people ever to walk the earth. So don't you dare tell me you're Dark!"

Harry stared at Remus in astonishment. The Marauder was breathing heavily, so passionately had he declared his opinion. And he had to admit, defining a language as 'evil' was pretty stupid. Harry nodded slightly.

"I hadn't really thought of it like that… But in the shop, you looked, well…"

"Stunned? You thought I was going to just shrug and say 'Oh, what a surprise!'? You were hissing Harry; I don't care that you can do it, but it was quite a shock you know."

"I guess… So – so you're not angry?"

"Of course not! Harry, this is me; I have to lock myself up every month to avoid tearing people to shreds – how could I be worried about you having… unanticipated linguistic abilities?"

Harry stared at him for a second, before throwing his arms round him in a bear-hug. Remus froze, slightly surprised, but quickly returned the hug, patting Harry gently on the back.

"Thanks Remus."

"No problem. Now, I do have something for you Harry – a spell."

Harry looked up in interest; new magic always excited him.

"It's quite complex for second years, but I'm sure you'll be able to manage it. And it'll help you with your new found ability."

Remus reached into his tatty coat, pulling out a scrap of parchment. A single word was written on it: Serpensortia.

Harry mouthed it silently, before looking up at Remus blankly.

"If cast properly, you'll conjure a snake; quite what it was designed for I don't know, but you'll be able to practise Parseltongue – if you want to that is."

Harry sat very still for a second, before taking the parchment from Remus. He shrugged.

"A little extra knowledge never hurt anyone right?"

Remus chuckled.

"There's the Harry I know and love!

A loud shout came from the pitch; Harry and Remus turned round, watching in silent shock as Dudley ran round the pitch, his shirt raised over his head. In unison, they shook their heads at the sheer insanity Muggles showed in some situations.

* * *

Harry wandered down the train, lugging his trunk behind him. They had arrived late again, as Uncle Vernon's car had refused to start. The train had been almost ready to leave as they dashed onto the platform, and Harry had been forced to jump on at the nearest door – right at the other end of the train to where his friends would likely be sitting. Cursing softly to himself, he struggled to manoeuvre past the gossiping students, occasionally calling out in greeting to those he knew, and ignoring the stares of those who recognised him only as The-Boy-Who-Lived.

At one point, he passed a mostly empty carriage, with only two people inside; a blond-haired girl he didn't recognise, who had her wand behind her ear, and a boy Harry did recognise – Zacharias Smith, a Hufflepuff student in Harry's year. As Harry's gaze fell on him, Smith turned round to stare back at Harry. For a moment Smith just looked at him blankly, before raising his hand in greeting. Harry raised his own hand uncertainly; he didn't quite know what to make of the strange boy. He was, even by magical standards, a bit odd.

Harry continued down the corridor, eventually sliding open a door to sit down next to his friends, who greeted him enthusiastically. Ginny was chattering loudly about Hogwarts, and Hermione was throwing out 'interesting' little facts from Hogwarts; A History as if she would get a prize. Ron and Neville were sitting there looking bored. Harry stored his luggage, before flopping down next to Hermione. Neville leant over to him.

"Nice photo in the Prophet the other day Harry!"

Harry scowled.

"Shut up; he just grabbed me out of the audience! I can't believe we're going to be taught by that idiot this year."

"He's not an idiot, he's brilliant! Have you even read his books?" Hermione asked, a slightly offended look on her face. Harry stared at her.

"Yes. I have. And you're right, he isn't an idiot. He's an arrogant, preening idiot, with questionable literary ability."

Ginny and Ron snorted; Hermione flushed.

"Well, I'll admit that he isn't exactly Shakespeare… But look at what he's achieved! We'll never manage anywhere near as much as that in our lives!"

Ron and Ginny looked at each other, then at Hermione.

"Er… Might want to bear in mind that you're talking to Harry Potter – defeated You-Know-Who remember?"

"Well yes, but Lockhart seems to consider the day wasted if he hasn't done something heroic before lunchtime."

Harry nodded.

"Credit where it's due, he is very active; he's only in his thirties, he's done a hell of a lot since leaving Hogwarts."

"He was at Hogwarts?"

"Yeah, a few years older than Sirius, Remus and Peter. Sirius didn't like him all that much, and it sounds as if he hasn't changed much since then."

"Well, I like his books, and I'm sure we'll learn a lot from him!"

Neville looked at Hermione.

"Are you sure it's his books you like, or is it Lockhart you like?"

Hermione blushed, and buried her head in 'Wanderings With Werewolves'. Harry looked at it.

"And that book's just wrong in pretty much every detail."

The others looked at him, and Hermione voiced the question:

"How do you know?"

"Umm… Remus is quite a bookworm as well, he told me. There isn't any spell to 'save' a werewolf."

Harry hurriedly took his own book out, mentally scolding himself for nearly letting slip Remus' secret. The others looked at him strangely, before settling down into further discussion of Lockhart's various merits. It seemed Neville was quite a fan, as was Hermione, while the two Weasley's were slightly more sceptical.

The friendly argument was shortly interrupted by the carriage door opening.

"Good lord, he's back. I thought you'd have been snivelling at home after your little jaunt last term Potter."

It was Theodore Nott, a Slytherin second year who for some reason had a grudge against Harry. He was leaning against the door frame, flanked by another Slytherin, Blaise Zabini; the dark-skinned boy looked uncomfortable, as if there against his better judgment. Harry looked back at Nott.

"Why wouldn't I be back?"

Nott shrugged.

"I've heard you were pretty badly mangled; shouldn't you be at home hiding behind your guardians? Or did the prospect of more photos lure you out – you must have loved having Lockhart suck up to you."

Harry just rolled his eyes, looking back to his book, but Ginny started to glare at Nott, the famous Weasley red rising in her cheeks.

"Why can't you just leave him alone? He didn't want any of that!"

"Merlin Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend! Poor taste on both your parts I must say, although I suppose she might just be after your money…"

Harry leapt to his feet, wand drawn, just a shade ahead of Ron; Nott took a step back, and Zabini tried to pull him away. Nott shook him off, still looking at Harry and Ron warily.

"Apologise. Now." Harry ground out.

Nott sneered.

"I'm not apologising to you Potter, you don't deserve it. You think you're so great, but I know all about you…"

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"As if you didn't know."

The two boys stood there, Nott's hand slowly drifting towards his pocket for his wand, everyone else frozen in anticipation; Hermione didn't even seem to be breathing. Harry was just opening his mouth to utter an incantation when Zabini pulled Nott back.

"Come on Theo, don't be an idiot! Let's go…"

Zabini scurried off; Nott looked as if he wanted to stay and really carry on with the looming duel, but being deprived of any back up clearly took the wind out of him. He slumped back, a nasty scowl on his face, and backed out of the carriage.

"See you around Potter…"

And he walked off after his friend. Harry sat back down, pocketing his wand. Ginny smiled at him in thanks as Hermione let her breath out. Neville looked curious however.

"What do you think he meant, 'I know all about you'?"

Harry shrugged.

"I don't know and frankly don't care. He's the one who's decided there's a problem between us; if he wants to tell me what that is then fine. If he doesn't then that's fine as well."

The friends settled back down, Hermione casting a quick locking charm to prevent any further interruptions. The rest of the journey passed in a blur of Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Botts Beans, and very soon they realised they would be at Hogsmeade very shortly. Bustling around putting their robes on, Ginny began to tense up nervously. Noticing this, Hermione took her out to the toilets 'for some privacy changing'.

Once securely locked away, Hermione put her arm round the younger girl's shoulder.

"What's wrong Ginny?"

"Oh… it's nothing really."

"I'm not blind Ginny!"

The redhead sighed.

"I'm just worried about the Sorting… I've never done any magic, and Fred and George keep going on about something horrible! And what if I don't get put in Gryffindor?"

Hermione pulled Ginny into a hug.

"Don't worry about it! The Sorting isn't dangerous in the slightest, it's just… Well, it would be a shame to break with tradition, but it isn't dangerous or hard. You don't really have to do anything. And as for not being in Gryffindor, well, it doesn't really matter does it? It's just a badge. And you can come and see us anytime you like if you are put somewhere else."

Ginny still looked unconvinced.

"Oh come on, it's not as if your family will just start shunning you because you're in a different house! That would be really stupid!"

Ginny gave a small smile.

"I guess…"

"Besides, you seem enough like your brothers to be almost certain of a red and yellow badge."

Ginny's smile widened, very slightly.

"Come on, we must be about there by now, we'd better get our stuff."

The two girls wandered back to the carriage, passing Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini as they did so; Nott sneered unpleasantly, but forebear to actually pass comment for some reason. Hermione rolled her eyes, and leant over to whisper in Ginny's ear.

"It isn't true that all Slytherins are evil you know Ginny; but some of them are incredibly unpleasant. You might have noticed that for yourself though."

Ginny started to giggle. She was still giggling as they walked into the carriage, drawing several confused looks from the boys. Hermione explained as they dragged trunks down from the racks, causing Ron to snort in disgust.

"Bloody Slytherin git… You'd better not get put there Gin, we'll never speak to you again!"

Ginny stared at him in distress; Hermione scowled, and Harry smacked him round the back of the head.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"For being a prat. There's nothing wrong with Slytherin, I nearly got put in there myself; the Hat only just decided I was a better fit for Gryffindor."

Ginny's eyes lit up at this, and she visibly relaxed. Clearly, the fact that Harry Potter – who might have more reason to dislike Slytherin House than anyone else of their generation – saw nothing wrong with going to live in the dungeons was a great comfort to her. Hermione smiled at this; Harry would probably hate the fact that he was held in such regard by anyone, but so long as Ginny was happier it wouldn't hurt him…

Leaving the train, they went their separate ways, Ginny to the boats that would take the First years over the lake to Hogwarts, accompanied by Hagrid (who called out to Harry and the others in greeting), and the older students to the coaches that would transport them to the castle. As they approached, Harry halted in astonishment.

"What the bloody hell are those?"

'Those' referred to the black, winged creatures that were pulling the coaches. They were extremely thin, looking like black skeletons that had had some material draped over them. They were also extremely ugly. Harry skirted round the one on the nearest carriage, opening the door with some distaste. Then he looked up. His friends were staring at him in incomprehension.

"Harry… There's nothing there." Hermione said carefully.

"Are you blind? Look, their right here, really ugly!"

The others looked again, and shook their heads.

"Are you feeling all right mate?"

"I'm fine Ron; look, give me your hand."

And before Ron had time to protest, Harry had pulled his hand towards the creature, patting it gently. Ron recoiled with a shriek.

"Bloody hell! What is it? Why can't we see it?"

"Because you have not seen death."

The group turned. The last remark had been made by the rather small, pale boy who had appeared behind them, apparently from nowhere: Zacharias Smith. Hermione stared at him in confusion.

"What do you mean 'because we haven't seen death'?" she asked.

"Thestrals can only be seen by those who have seen someone die. As you have Harry Potter."

Harry nodded slowly. Quirrell he thought to himself. This was his first trip on the coaches, the first years going back to Hogsmeade over the lake at the end of the year, a tradition dating back hundreds of years. He had caught the coaches at Christmas, he had been unconscious for Easter, and he hadn't seen anyone die before that. His former Professor had changed that – indeed, Harry had caused it, something that did occasionally cause him to wake at nights. He felt no guilt over the matter, but it had been a horrible experience.

The four friends climbed in, followed by Smith, who sat staring at Harry as the coach moved off. The group sat in silence, until Neville coughed nervously.

"My gran told me about Thestrals once… She said they were a bad omen, Dark creatures. What're they doing pulling school coaches?"

Smith turned his unblinking gaze on Neville.

"They are not Dark, but the association with death has led them to be feared. And people can make anything an omen; Thestral's have no importance as an omen of anything."

He turned back to Harry.

"Of course, a lot of things are different around the Boy-Who-Lived. Maybe we should worry about Dark events this year. Who can say?"

Smith still hadn't blinked. Harry nodded uncomfortably, before changing the subject swiftly.

"Who was that girl you were talking to on the train? I didn't recognise her."

"That was my cousin; she is starting this year. I believe you know her Ronald Weasley."

Ron jumped in shock.

"I do? I mean – do I?"

"Yes. She lives not far from you; Luna Lovegood."

"Oh yeah, I've met her a few times. She's… she's very – nice…"

Ron trailed off into silence. Smith continued to stare at Harry in silence. Nobody spoke for the rest of the journey. As they arrived, Smith wandered off to join his housemates. Ron stared after him.

"That boy is seriously strange… Come on, let's get inside."

They took their places at the Gryffindor table, calling out in greeting to other friends. As they settled down, they noticed that a lot of the girls in the hall were looking over at the top of the room rather frequently. Harry glanced over at the staff table; Lockhart was sat there, smiling brilliantly, occasionally waving at a more obvious fan. His good looks were even more in evidence on this occasion; he was sitting next to Snape, the Potions Master – a thin, gaunt man, with a hooked nose and greasy hair. Snape was all in black, Lockhart in brilliant green. They could not have been more different, similar in only one respect. Harry disliked them both. As Ron followed his gaze, he let out a loud sigh.

"Damn. Snape's still here. And I've been crossing my fingers all summer too…"

Hermione rolled her eyes, but didn't disagree; very few people outside Snape's own House, Slytherin, actually liked him. However, her gaze was noticeably slipping towards Lockhart. Harry nudged Ron and Neville, pointing this out. They sat there in silence, waiting for her to notice. Eventually she noticed no-one was saying anything anymore, and looked round, only to blush at their questioning stares, turning to talk to Lavender and Parvati (who seemed to be gossiping very intently about Lockhart). The three boys sniggered quietly.

Suddenly a door at the side of the Hall opened, and the new first years walked in, flanked by the House ghosts, who drifted off to join their respective tables. Harry saw Ginny at the back of the line, and gave her a discreet thumbs up, eliciting a grin. Professor McGonagall stood at the front, calling out names, and students ran up to be Sorted (Luna Lovegood going to Ravenclaw), and eventually it was Ginny's turn.

She ran up to the stool, almost jumping onto it, the old, tatty Hat on her head. It was only there for a few seconds before calling out 'Gryffindor! The Weasley's already at the Gryffindor table let out whoops of congratulations as their sister walked over, flushing and grinning in equal measure. They all welcomed her to the table as the Sorting drew to a close. The feast followed, everyone eating nearly their weight in delicious food, before the Headmaster stood up to deliver his traditional speech.

"Well, now that we are all sufficiently nourished, welcome, all of you, to another year at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry! I hope those of you returning have emptied your heads enough to be refilled this year, and for those of you just joining us, may I wish you a most successful and enjoyable year."

Dumbledore paused to smile benevolently at the attentive students.

"There are, as always, a few notices that must be given out. First, I would like you to join me in welcoming our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Gilderoy Lockhart!"

There was a roar of applause, and Lockhart stood up, beaming brightly, his teeth gleaming in the candlelight. He bowed to each table, before sitting back down with a jaunty wave. Harry stared at Hermione in disgust as she giggled.

"Yes, welcome indeed Professor Lockhart; we can only hope that some of your… prodigious talent will rub off on your pupils!"

Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling brightly as he said this.

"Onto more mundane issues, I must once again remind you all that everything you might wish to know about the Forbidden Forest is in its name; anyone caught in there will suffer the consequences. Magic is forbidden in the corridors, as are a large variety of items; Mr Filch, our caretaker, has pinned a comprehensive list to the notice boards in each common room. And with that, goodnight! Rest well, so that you will be full of vigour for the working day!"

* * *

A/N: reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated. Regarding updates, I can promise an update every Monday for the next 4 weeks at least. After that, I hope to be able to keep to that schedule, but I have up to and including chapter 6 written at the moment, so those are the only ones I can guarantee.


	4. Light and Dark

**Chapter 3: Light and Dark**

"Herbology first. Can't wait, we'll actually be dealing with interesting plants!"

"You think all plants are interesting Nev, you'd spend months studying daisies if you had the opportunity…"

"Well they are… there're so many uses for them, almost limitless!"

"Yeah yeah… what have we got this afternoon?"

"History of Magic –"

"Oh great…"

"Followed by Defence Against the Dark Arts with Lockhart."

"Oh, it's with _Lockhart_ is it Hermione? Is that a good thing? Go on, don't tell us, you've covered the timetable block with little hearts!"

"Actually Ronald – give that back!"

"Oh dear Merlin you really have! And I thought you were the smart one of the group…"

"Oh shut up!"

As Harry and his friends wandered down to the greenhouses, bickering good-naturedly, they spotted the gleaming figure of Gilderoy Lockhart strolling out of the first greenhouse. The squat figure of Professor Sprout was stomping behind him; even from this distance, it was obvious that she was not in a good mood. Reluctant to meet Lockhart unless strictly necessary, Harry ducked into the stone circle at the top of the hill, followed by Ron and Neville; Hermione looked as if she wanted to call out in greeting, but a glare from Harry quelled that urge. However, Lockhart wandered off in the direction of Hagrid's hut, in the other direction to the greenhouses. Harry stepped out again, sighing in relief and ignoring Hermione's sigh of exasperation.

As they carried on down the hill, Neville started to look over his shoulder. Noticing the others looking at him, he began to explain, but before he could Harry had spotted a small blond boy. He had a slightly manic grin, and was gazing at Harry in something approaching adoration. He scurried forward a few paces, before stopping; he raised his arm timidly and waved at Harry. Harry shrugged, and waved back. The boy let out a loud squeak of excitement, jumping and nearly falling over. As Ron began to snigger Harry and Hermione went to help him up.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked him gently.

"Oh yes! It's just so brilliant you know, finally being able to see _Harry Potter_ in the flesh! Oh, I'm Colin Creevey, I'm in Gryffindor too. I'm a big fan Harry!"

Colin clearly wasn't all that adept at reading facial expressions; Harry had a stony look on his face, suggesting bad things would happen if the boy continued.

"I've got all the newspaper clippings ever written about you Harry, they're in my dorm –"

"Yes, that's lovely Colin, but we really must be off now, we've got classes. We'll… we'll see you later, ok? _Won't_ we Harry?"

Harry glared at her, but forced a smile onto his face, nodding swiftly.

"It was… very nice to meet you Colin. See you later."

Colin squeaked again, before running back up the slope. Harry shot another glare at Hermione, who was just about managing to suppress a grin, before walking back past Ron and Neville, who were now quivering with laughter.

"Yeah yeah, laugh it up… He looks the type to pester you lot as well."

Ron shrugged.

"It'll be worth it just for the look on your face."

* * *

Throughout the Herbology lesson, it was obvious that Harry's guess as to Professor Sprout's mood had been accurate; the lesson wasn't entirely dissimilar to Potions when Snape was in one of his better moods. Of course, it was a rather creepier lesson than normal anyway – Harry could not bring himself to enjoy pulling screaming, deformed babies out of tubs – and of course, the Mandrakes they were re-potting were more dangerous than normal plants; their cry wasn't fatal at this stage in their life, but could still knock you out, making earmuffs a necessity. Naturally, the earmuffs supplied were a hideous pink, which was particularly bad in Ron's case, causing a magnificent clash with his hair. It was odd, Harry mused, yanking another plant out of its pot, that the most dangerous lessons they had involved plants. In Herbology, the plants tried to eat you, and in Potions, the wrong plant at the wrong time could make it blow up in your face, always a bad thing.

Still, it was more interesting than History of Magic, where Professor Binns was surpassing himself. They were covering the Sorcery Wars, which meant battles that had left large areas of the planet uninhabitable for centuries, and nearly ripped apart the walls of reality. In other words, just the kind of history to grab the attention. But half the class was asleep; the other half were occupying themselves in doodling, or hangman, or other worthwhile pursuits. The Hufflepuff student next to Harry leaned back, yawning.

"God this is dull. How can he make wars between the most powerful people ever _boring_? It's like his own unique magical gift. Sorry, the name's Justin, Justin Finch-Fletchly."

The boy put out his hand, and Harry shook it, welcome for the distraction from the lesson.

"I'm Harry –"

"Potter, of course. Everyone knows who you are! The next Lockhart they were saying last night!"

Harry stiffened. People were comparing him to Lockhart?

"Why? I wouldn't say I'm anything like him."

"Well, maybe not in terms of your personality, but you're similar aren't you? I mean, obviously he's achieved much more than you, but he is older isn't he? Give it a few years and you'll be as famous as he is!"

Neville, sitting in the row in front, turned round at this, a look of sheer incredulity on his face, before turning back around, having taken note of the look on Harry's face.

"So – you're a fan of Lockhart then?"

"Oh Lord yes, man's amazing! I'd have died of fright if I'd faced half the stuff he has – werewolf in a phone box? No problem, just _zap_! And no more problem. He's absolutely brilliant."

On the other side of the room, a deep crack appeared in the blackboard. In any other class, this would have caused comment, but since Binns was incapable of lifting the chalk, no-one was looking at the board. Harry noticed though; with an audible gulp, he focussed his mind on quashing his magic's attempts to lash out. He didn't have a headache though…

"I say, are you all right?"

Harry looked back at Justin, who had a worried look on his face.

"I'm fine; why do you ask?"

"Oh… Sorry, must have been a trick of the light. Your eyes looked like they'd turned red, imagine that!"

Justin carried on talking, while Harry replayed his remark over and over in his head: _Your eyes looked like they'd turned red…_

Harry hadn't given much thought to the block on his magical core recently; since he wasn't allowed to use magic over the holidays, there was no chance of it being worn down, if he understood Dumbledore correctly. And aside from turning his bedroom walls blue, he hadn't had any 'problems' since the end of his first year, which was a definite improvement.

But now he had just lost control, not because he was under great emotional stress, as in the majority of cases prior to this, but because he was talking to an idiot. And he wasn't even getting the headaches which, while painful and something he dreaded, had at least served as a useful early warning system. And coupled with his persistent glimpses of himself with red eyes, now confirmed by someone else…

This was definitely something he needed to tell Dumbledore about, next time they spoke. For now though, he needed to concentrate on shutting Justin up. The boy really was talking _rubbish_.

* * *

The class poured out of the History of Magic classroom with an almost indecent haste, desperate to escape the cloying atmosphere of tedium that clung to the classroom like a spider's web. Harry was venting his frustration over Justin's remarks about Lockhart to his friends.

"Why would anybody want to compare me to _him_? He's a preening idiot, I'm nothing like him!"

Hermione glared at him.

"I think Justin _meant_ that you're both heroes Harry. He wasn't trying to insult you. And Lockhart isn't an idiot! Just read his books – how can you say he's an idiot after saving villages from werewolves, and fighting yetis?"

Neville adopted the same incredulous look he had shown during Justin's speech.

"Hermione, Harry stopped You-Know-Who. I'm not disputing that Lockhart's done a lot of good, but a couple of villages against stopping a wizard so Dark, so vicious that people are still scared to say his name over ten years later? No contest, sorry. Harry's more famous than Lockhart will ever be, no matter how much he smiles in glossy photos."

"That's the point though; I don't want to be famous. I just want a normal life, where I don't have to worry about being a hero or not."

"Then why are you so annoyed with Justin then?"

"Because I find his comparison offensive! I don't care if he doesn't think I'm that much of a hero, but if he thinks _Lockhart's_ better than me…"

Hermione rolled her eyes, folding her arms and glaring at them.

"I really don't know what you've got against him you know! Well, you'll all see this afternoon."

And with that she stormed off in the direction of the library. The others stared after her, before wandering off to get some lunch, moving onto more pleasant topics. There was a rumour going round that Dumbledore had forced Snape to tone his teaching down this year; Harry thought it was wishful thinking, given the length of time it had gone on for, but crossed his fingers all the same. Ron was also excited about the Quidditch trials at the weekend; while he wouldn't be trying out himself, he would be watching Harry fly with glee, and was telling Neville all about the experience of flying the Nimbus.

Harry let all of this wash over him, making only perfunctory replies, still thinking about the events of the History lesson.

Having quickly polished off a decent helping of lunch, the trio wandered into the courtyard, still chatting about unimportant but pleasant topics. Nott was lounging under a tree, reading something; he looked up at the sound of their voices and sneered at them, which Harry ignored. Collapsing under a tree of their own, they continued their chat.

Harry was almost dozing off in the sun when a shadow fell over him. He opened his eyes to see Colin Creevey standing over him. He suppressed a groan with some effort, and fixed a cheery smile on his face.

"Hey there Colin! What can we do for you?"

The blond boy flushed vividly.

"Well I… I was wondering if I could have a picture. Of the two of us, you know. I mean, one of the other boys was telling me if I soaked them in the right potion the pictures would move, and I thought it would be cool if I had one of us – so I could, well, prove I'd met you. If that's all right?"

Harry stared at him in shock. Ron was shaking with laughter, and Neville had quickly pulled out a book to smirk into. _It was most unfair of his friends to abandon him in his hour of need_ Harry thought.

"Well… I don't really like publicity Colin…"

The boy's face fell.

"Oh. No, no, that's ok, I can understand…"

The sheer dejection in his voice struck at Harry like a club; the younger boy looked close to tears. As creepy as the boy's apparent obsession with him was, Harry couldn't refuse him when he looked like that. Mentally screaming at himself for his utter stupidity, he found himself speaking:

"Still… I guess, maybe one photo, for a… For a friend."

Judging by the way Creevey's face lit up, and the gleam in his eye, he hadn't noticed Harry's forced smile and reluctant tone; he'd barely been able to grind out the word "friend". But Creevey looked like he'd just seen Santa pop out of the chimney with a large, full sack.

"That'd be great! And then maybe you could sign it!"

"_Sign it?"_

Ron let out a loud snort of laughter. Harry stared at the boy incredulously; again, he didn't seem to pick up that Harry wasn't totally enthralled with the idea.

"Colin, why do you want me to sign it?"

"You're doing _what_ Potter?"

Harry turned; Theodore Nott had given up on his book and walked over to them. He had an unpleasant grin on his face.

"Signed photos? Well, we wouldn't want anyone to miss out would we Potter? We should let everyone know don't you think? Come on everyone, Potter's giving out signed photos!"

A few curious faces looked up, and one or two people began to stroll over. Nott turned back to them again, smirking gleefully, only to freeze as Harry pointed his wand into his face.

"Piss off Nott. Now."

"You wouldn't dare Potter…"

Harry smiled slightly, before shrugging and lowering his wand slightly.

"_Amorphophallus!"_

Nott cried out, doubling over in pain, flushing a deep red. Ron and Neville roared with laughter, while Colin merely looked slightly bemused. Nott looked up at Harry, his face flaming red with a mixture of embarrassment and pain.

"Cancel it!"

"No."

"Please!"

"Sorry, can't. Go and see Madame Pomfrey, she'll be able to sort it out…"

Nott stared at him, a nasty look in his eyes.

"You'll pay for this Potter, you'll pay…"

And he turned away, staggering off in the direction of the Hospital Wing, still bent over. Ron was rolling on the ground with laughter. Harry grinned to himself. He'd probably get into trouble for it, but still… it had felt very good.

"Harry? Can… Can I have that photo?"

"If you really must I suppose Colin…"

"Great! Smile!"

There was a flash, and Colin was smiling inanely, a manic grin on his face. Harry rubbed his eyes, and grabbed the boy by the shoulder.

"Don't – don't tell anyone about this ok Colin? Our little secret?"

"Sure, anything you say Harry – this is so cool!"

Harry flopped back down under the tree, Ron and Neville still sniggering. He glared at them, before lying down, muttering to himself. They thought they heard "like kicking a puppy…" but the rest was inaudible.

* * *

Half an hour later, they were standing outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, awaiting their first lesson with Lockhart, which would be shared with the Slytherins. Nott was conspicuous by his absence. Harry had a harassed look about him; Ron and Neville would not stop teasing him about his photo shoot earlier. The click of shoes on stone alerted him to the presence of someone else, and he looked up to see Hermione approaching. A wave of relief flooded through him. She could at least be relied upon not to be too amused by the incident. Strangely though, she strode straight up to him and stood facing him, hands on hips.

"What's this about signed photos? And how come I haven't got one? I mean, if you're handing them out to all and sundry, you ought to give your closest friends one shouldn't you? Harry?"

Harry stared at her, gaping like a goldfish. Ron and Neville began to snigger _again_.

"Hermione –"

He stopped. There was a glint in her eye… He slumped his shoulders again.

"That was nasty."

"Yes. But quite funny, you've got to admit."

Harry scowled.

"I only agreed because he looked like he was going to cry."

"I'm sure that's true." Hermione's gaze softened. "Fred and George found him looking at it. I think they're making copies."

Harry let out a small moan, while the laughter behind him increased.

"I don't suppose you happen to know the incantation for the Killing Curse do you Hermione?"

She shook her head, a small smile on her face. Behind them, the door opened, and Lockhart stuck his head out, beaming grin plastered on his face.

"Ah, good afternoon all of you! Come in, come in! Lots to do you know…"

The students filed into the room, some looking excited, some apprehensive, some (mainly Harry and Ron) bored. The room had undergone a significant change from the previous year. Quirrell had stuck various posters and diagrams up, detailing the effects of dark magic. Lockhart had put himself up. Portraits, posters, photographs… He covered every surface, in a variety of elegant robes. He looked immaculate in each of them, and was grinning toothily, bowing graciously every time someone walked past to sit down. Harry felt an almost irresistible urge to start flinging around a few burning spells, but he gritted his teeth and sat down, making a pile of his books. Lockhart strode to the front of the room, and turned to face them, beaming at them.

"Welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts. I am your teacher, Gilderoy Lockhart; Order of Merlin, third class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League and of course, five times winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming Smile award – although I don't talk about that one much obviously. After all, I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"

He waited, still beaming, for people to laugh. A few people offered weak smiles.

"Now, a brief quiz to start with, just to make sure you've all done your preparatory reading. You have thirty minutes, starting… Now!"

The class bent over the paper; Harry nearly walked out when he looked at some of the questions – who gave a toss what Lockhart's favourite colour was? – but decided to reserve his anger for later in the lesson. He was sure that Lockhart would do something to deserve it. He nearly exploded when Hermione received full marks; she did have the decency to blush when this was announced. Then Lockhart stood up again, a serious expression on his face.

"Now, to the lesson proper! As I have said, this is the Defence Against the Dark Arts class; you will not always enjoy this class. Sometimes, you may be scared. You are here to be armed against the dangers of the world, which are numerous and deadly. My books cover only the tip of the iceberg of Darkness boys and girls – I'm not going to lie to you, there is danger, be it Dark creature or Dark wizard. However, you may be assured that while you are in this classroom, you will suffer no harm. You are perfectly safe."

Harry grudgingly awarded Lockhart a few points mentally. He knew how to make a speech at least, and it wasn't complete gibberish.

"We will cover some practical work later on, but first I want to cover a little about the theory behind Light and Dark magic."

Harry sat up despite himself. Lockhart hadn't touched on this in his books, and he was curious as to the man's beliefs.

"The difference between the two is often held up to be extremely complex, taking into account the nature of the spell, the caster's intent, and so forth. In reality, it is extremely simple. Light magic first then. Light magic is pure magic. It is defensive magic. Dark magic is the opposite. Dark magic is magic that is designed to hurt people, it is purely offensive magic. Of course, there is lots of magic that falls between the two, household magic and so forth, but by and large that is all one needs to know on the subject."

Harry growled softly. He had been right; Lockhart was an idiot. Unfortunately, he was idiot with good hearing.

"Is something wrong Mr Potter?"

Harry stayed silent for a moment, trying to control his urge to yell at his teacher. Then: _hell with it._

"That theory is wrong Professor. You can't define it like that, although you're right, it is simple. Light magic is controlled; Dark is wild. Obviously, there are some exceptions, like the Unforgivables, but mainly that's the rule."

"Mr Potter, I think I know a _little _more about magic than you, particularly Dark magic."

"A little's right…"

"I beg your pardon Mr Potter?"

"I said that I do have some experience with Dark magic. Sir."

"Well obviously, but nevertheless, I am your teacher and –"

"And you're teaching us rubbish sir."

"Mr Potter! 20 points from Gryffindor! You will not speak to me in such a fashion again is that understood?"

Harry stared at him, simmering with anger. Even the Ministry wasn't that narrow-minded! But with a deep breath he buried his anger under a layer of calm.

"Of course sir, I'm very sorry."

"Right, well, see that it doesn't happen again, understand? Now that we have the theory out of the way, let's move onto the practical."

He lifted a cage, with a cloth over it, onto his desk.

"Try not to scream; you may alarm them."

He whipped the cloth off, revealing a dozen or so Cornish Pixies. He reached down and opened the door…

* * *

A/N: As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. Also, for those who are interested, the spell Harry uses against Nott is, according to QI (British quiz show), the Latin name for the smallest plant in the world. So I can't claim credit for it sadly. 


	5. Serpensortia

**Chapter 4: Serpensortia**

It was early on Saturday morning. Harry was leaning against the wall in one of the classrooms on the seventh floor, on his own. It hadn't been the best week he'd ever had at Hogwarts.

The pixie incident had been an unmitigated disaster; Lockhart had released them before leaving the students to deal with it. Had Hermione not known a few useful spells the chaos would have spread from the classroom; as it was, no-one had been injured any more severely than a few cuts and bruises. After his first year, this seemed fairly tame to Harry, but it still didn't excuse the fact that Lockhart had just let it happen. Hermione had been going on about 'letting us get some valuable experience', but Harry was pretty sure that the spell Lockhart had demonstrated wasn't even a real one. He had pointed this out to her. She hadn't spoken to him until the next day.

Then of course, there was the Gryffindor Common Room. Fred and George had indeed made copies of the photo he had given Colin. They had also enlarged them to life size and stuck them on every available surface in the room. Worse, they had also seen fit to enchant them; they now constantly shouted out to people – in a way they were almost worse than Lockhart's pictures of himself. The only saving grace was that it was obvious he hadn't wanted the picture; his portrait-self kept running out of the frame, often staying away for hours at a time. Still, it was very embarrassing, made even worse by the fact he couldn't remove the sticking charm the twins had used.

Potions had been even worse than normal. Snape had arrived in the dungeons while Lavender and Parvati had been talking about Lockhart, very loudly. His normal unpleasant expression had momentarily changed to one of absolute hatred – one that Harry suspected had been seen by the Marauders more than once – and he had immediately put them in detention. Then he had taken the register. Instead of his customary growl at Harry's name, he had merely smirked; once he had finished, he had returned to Harry.

"Ah, Mr Potter. Quite the celebrity this week aren't you? Perhaps Professor Lockhart has been rubbing off on you? Why, I hear you are even handing out signed photos of yourself! I must confess myself surprised; I didn't dare to think you could be more arrogant than you were last year, but I suppose we must all be proved wrong sometimes mustn't we? I hope they fetch a good price Potter, because if you don't show a significant improvement you certainly won't be able to make a career as a Potions Master."

Harry knew that he shouldn't reply, knew that sarcastic Snape was better than coldly furious Snape, but he'd had a trying few days, and he hadn't slept well, and Snape could be so bloody _smug _when he wanted to be.

"Well, that's obviously a great disappointment to me sir, but I'll try not to lose a great deal of sleep over it."

The other Gryffindors winced. Snape's eyes narrowed, and his next words were almost a hiss.

"Detention Potter. Do not think that just because some idiotic first year thinks you Merlin reborn that the opinion is shared with others. And if you _ever_ speak to me like that again, you will spend the rest of the term in detention. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Splendid. Get to work!"

So. Detention (with Filch just too really make things bad), he'd lost 20 points for Gryffindor, and he was a figure of fun around the castle because he'd shown a first year some sympathy. Great.

Still, he hadn't come up here to brood, he could do that perfectly comfortably in bed. Sitting up straight, he pulled the piece of parchment Remus had given him out of his robe.

_Serpensortia_

He had found more information on it from another spell book in the library, explaining the wand movement that accompanied the incantation. He raised his wand, moving it roughly in a triangle shape before bringing it down in a sharp slashing movement, while mouthing the spell. Nodding to himself, satisfied, he did the movement again, speaking the spell aloud. A large, black snake shot from the end of the wand, but had faded away by the time it hit the floor. Harry cursed under his breath. At least he knew the spell worked, now he just had to practice.

Twenty minutes later, and the snake was now landing successfully. However, it always faded away before Harry had a proper chance to start up a conversation. Harry was beginning to get annoyed. He knew that this was more complex magic than most people his age would be attempting, but he'd never taken this long to master a spell before. Making the triangle shape again, he slashed his wand down again, angrily shouting _'Serpensortia!'_ Another black snake flew from the end of his wand, and landed on the floor. This one was shimmering slightly for some reason. Harry waited for a moment, but the snake merely stared at him; all his previous attempts had vanished by this point. Clearly, he was getting better.

"_Hello?"_

"_Greetings. What is your name Speaker?"_

"_Harry. Harry Potter. What's yours?"_

"_I don't have one Harry Harry Potter."_

"_Why not? And it's only one Harry."_

"_I have never been able to have one before Harry."_

Harry stared in confusion for a moment before the answer hit him. Of course, he'd conjured the snake, not summoned it; it was a creation of his own, and he hadn't given it a name. He debated naming it now, but since it was only a conjuration, it wouldn't be around that long; naming it seemed fairly pointless.

As he thought about it, the snake began to fade again. Harry quickly raised his wand, but before he could renew the spell the snake had vanished completely. He sighed to himself, before looking at his watch. He nodded, satisfied. There was plenty of time to practice before he had to be at his first Quidditch practice. He raised his arm again, once again casting _'Serpensortia!'_ with a loud cry. Once again, a snake shimmered into being, flying from the tip of his wand. This time, Harry vaguely recognised it as an adder, and he took a step back, in case it had a bad temper. He didn't fancy explaining a snake bite to Madame Pomfrey.

Over the next hour, Harry struck up conversation with snake after snake, each one gradually fading away; five minutes at first, then ten, fifteen, eventually twenty. Speaking Parseltongue was surprisingly easy; he just had to focus on the snake in front of him, and he slipped into Parseltongue without even realising it. Indeed, the only indication he was speaking a different language was the fact the snake understood him and replied. Another thing he had noticed was that all the snakes he had conjured were, once they were able to progress in conversation far enough, very arrogant. Considering the Slytherins he knew best, that didn't really surprise him.

As the last snake he had conjured – a harmless grass snake he thought – faded away, Harry sat back down. Since he seemed to be able to conjure a variety of snakes, he thought it might be a good idea to learn more about them. He could recognise some of the magical varieties, such as the Runespoor, but Muggle varieties were a mystery to him. And that could present a problem. As far as he was aware, the most dangerous snake he had conjured had been the adder, which by magical standards was totally harmless. But what if he conjured something worse? There were some kinds of snake, Muggle and Magical, which could kill with a single tiny bite. He could study Magical snakes easily enough, although he would have to do it discreetly, but there would be nothing on Muggle snakes in the Library. Maybe Remus could help…

Surfacing from his thoughts, he looked at his watch again, and leapt to his feet. He had only a short time to grab some breakfast before he had to go to practice. He hurried from the classroom, running down towards the Great Hall, mentally composing the letter he wanted to send.

* * *

"Come on Harry, you've got practice in a few minutes!"

"I know Ron, I just need to finish this…"

Eating distractedly as he did so, Harry finished scribbling his letter to Remus. It was only short, but Harry felt it important.

_Dear Remus,_

_How are you? Term hasn't been _too_ bad so far, although Lockhart is the biggest idiot I've ever had the misfortune to meet, let alone be taught by. He really doesn't know the first thing about his subject; I'd be fascinated to learn what his books are based on. I've never heard such a narrow view of the difference between light and dark magic! I'm afraid I lost my temper and corrected him. He wasn't happy at all. There's also some first year who's obsessed with me; he's actually been taking photos of me whenever we see each other, which is _really_ embarrassing_. _And Snape's been as pleasant as ever; I really wish you guys hadn't been as stupid as you were when you were at school – please pass that onto Sirius for me!_

_Anyway, I've got a favour to ask you. I've tried out the spell you gave me – successfully, which I was very pleased by – and I think it's going to be a great help to me. But I don't really know anything about snakes, and it isn't really something I can find out safely here; we don't need to know about them, and the only books in the library are on magical snakes, so they probably won't be that useful. Could you get me a book on them please? And try and send it discreetly, so that nobody gets suspicious?_

_I hope you're ok; how was the full moon? See you soon, and give my love to everyone,_

_Harry._

"Is it really that important? Come on, you're going to be late! You don't want to be kicked off the team because you're writing a letter do you?"

"Ok, ok, I'm finished, I'm finished. Right, are we off?"

Ron jumped up, eager to see Harry fly again. Hermione and Neville joined them as well, although with considerably less enthusiasm. Neither of them were huge fans of the sport, although Neville could at least follow a conversation about it and understood the rules. Harry suspected Hermione's dislike of it was due to her inability to fly a broom; she hated being bad at anything, and he thought it more than likely that if she ever mastered the art, she would enjoy Quidditch much more.

As they walked down to the pitch, they bumped into Fred and George, also in Quidditch robes, and looking very disgruntled.

"Morning you lot!"

"Don't know what Wood's playing at,"

"Getting us training this early in the year."

"He must really want to win!"

George yawned deeply, before putting his arm round Harry's shoulder – an uncomfortable feeling, given the way his wilder magic made his arm twitch constantly.

"You see young Harry, Wood's a fanatic. Quidditch is his life, his food, his drink. And when he sees you fly, especially on that broom, he may well get down on his knees and beg to have your children, because he'll know that we are pretty much guaranteed to win the cup this year."

"Not that we're trying to scare you or anything!" Fred said with a wink.

Harry just rolled his eyes.

The banter continued all the way down to the pitch, Fred and George being very vocal about having to be up before ten on a Saturday, which was apparently "unnatural!" As they arrived, Harry noticed a familiar blond head lounging by the stands. He shook his head in exasperation, walking over.

"What are you doing here Draco?"

The blond Pureblood affected a hurt expression, pouting at Harry.

"Can't I even come and watch my friends enjoy themselves now? I'd have thought you'd be happy to see me, especially after my father assisted you over the summer!"

"Draco, of course you can watch me fly, but we do know that you're the Slytherin Seeker this year; we aren't going to show you our moves. We're not stupid you know."

"Are you sure? I could give you some tips; the 2001's a tricky broom to fly, and since I have space to fly at home, I'm probably a little better than you are…"

"Well, I look forward to finding out. How about this afternoon? When we've finished our practice?"

Draco shrugged, a slight smile on his face.

"If you're sure, but I think the team would benefit from my expertise. I mean, after last year's shambolic effort they need all the help they can get just to be worthwhile opposition, let alone successful..."

"_Goodbye_ Draco. And don't let the twins hear you talking like that. You know what happened last time they got annoyed with you…"

Draco's smirk flickered, replaced by anxiety, but only for a moment, immediately returning to his confident mask of superiority. He stood up, ready to leave, before stopping, as if he'd just remembered something.

"Theo's not very happy with you Harry. He wouldn't say why though; perhaps you'd care to enlighten me?"

Harry grinned.

"He was annoying me, so I cast the _Amorphophallus_ Hex on him."

Draco stared for a moment, before letting out a snort of amusement.

"Well, that would certainly explain that! That's just cruel Harry. Thanks for telling me though, the others will be delighted!"

"Oh, no problem; anything for a friend. Now clear off so we can practice in peace."

"All right, I'm going, I'm going…"

Draco strolled off, pausing only to give a mocking smile to Ron, who scowled at him. Harry hurried to get changed, before joining the rest of the team out on the pitch. The captain, Oliver Wood, waved at him.

"Ah Harry, good lad. Fred and George said you'd got yourself a broom; good quality?"

Harry just held his broom out. A hush fell over the squad.

"A Nimbus 2001! You don't even need to be a good flyer to do well on that!"

"Yeah well, don't worry yourself on that score Angelina!"

"Yeah, Harry's great. Go on, show them what you can do Harry!"

Harry looked at Wood enquiringly, and grinned at the eager expression the captain had. He mounted his broom, soaring up into the air with a twitch. A few loops and dives later, and the rest of the team joined him, grinning to a man.

The practice went extremely well. Despite Draco's claims, the team were good anyway, and having a Seeker of Harry's calibre only improved matters. Knowing they had good team members backing them up encouraged the others to take more risks, which usually paid off. As the practice went on, a clicking sound became audible; looking round for the source, Harry spotted Colin Creevey frantically taking photos of him. Sighing, he flew up higher, his team-mates openly laughing at him as they realised where Fred and George had got the photos that were still up on the Common Room walls.

An hour or so later, the team finished for lunch, abandoning the pitch for the Slytherin team, who were just arriving. Harry cast his eye over them; Draco was an exception, small and lithe. The rest of the team could easily have been mistaken for trolls in a low light, especially the captain, Marcus Flint. As Harry walked past Flint scowled and cracked his knuckles; behind him, Draco rolled his eyes and pulled a face, imitating Flint's ugly expression. Harry laughed, and carried on back to the castle, the Slytherin team's glares fixed on his back.

After swiftly grabbing some lunch, Harry wandered up to the Owlery to send his letter to Remus. Looking out of the window, he could just see the Slytherin team down on the pitch. It was tricky to tell from such a distance, but it seemed that they hadn't changed their playing style much from the previous year; bulldoze opposing players and try and leave them badly injured. Harry couldn't wait to show them how Quidditch should be played.

When Hedwig finally agreed to take the letter, after much fussing on Harry's part, he made his way back down to the pitch, broomstick in hand and a broad grin on his face. Draco was almost as good a flyer as he claimed to be, and had a competitive streak a mile wide. Harry always enjoyed reminding him that he wasn't as good as Harry, and now, since they had exactly the same broom, there could be no argument. It would come down purely to skill.

Draco was leaning on his broom when Harry arrived, a bored expression on his face. He stood up as Harry walked over, hoisting his broom over his shoulder.

"At last! I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up; I mean, you've never been scared before, but I suppose if the defeat was going to be more public you might chicken out…"

"Oh it wasn't that, I just thought you'd need time to recover; I know too much activity wears out lazy, childish Purebloods."

Draco raised an eyebrow, before smirking slightly, acknowledging the hit.

"Wow. You've been practicing sarcasm. Isn't that _fascinating?_ We'll make a Slytherin of you yet Harry."

"You can only be Sorted once; are we arguing or flying?"

"Thought you'd never ask. _Up!_"

Draco's broom shot into his hand and he soared off into the air, turning to look down at Harry, challenging him silently to catch him. Harry just held his hand out, his broom automatically coming to his hand without a command. He was rewarded with a quick scowl, before Draco's mask slid back into place. Following Draco's lead, he rose quickly into the air, drawing level with him.

"So, what are the rules?"

"Three laps round the pitch, any tactics you like?"

"Works for me – hey!"

Draco had shot off as soon as Harry nodded his agreement. Taking a moment to level out, cursing the blond as he did so, Harry shot off after him. Neither of them had any speed advantage, but Harry was just a tiny bit better than Draco – and crucially, more willing to take risks. So when Draco went all the way round the goalposts at either end of the pitch, Harry just cut straight through them, narrowly avoiding crashing his broom. This move drew angry cries of cheat from behind him, but Harry ignored him, too wrapped up in the sheer joy of being able to fly without restraint. Before he knew it, Draco was calling a halt, the three laps finished; Harry had won fairly easily given his starting handicap. Draco hovered with a mildly annoyed expression.

"Damn. I hate losing to you."

"You'd have thought you'd be used to it by now… How long have we had an audience?"

There were several people sitting in the stands. Harry thought he could make out a camera flash, leading him to deduce Colin was watching him _again_. He really needed to have a word with the boy. They flew slowly over; Colin was indeed there, with Ron and Ginny watching as well. Ginny waved at Harry as they approached. Harry waved back, but his eye was caught by someone sitting a few rows behind them; Zacharias Smith. Dismounting his broom, Harry turned away from him, listening to Ron and Draco bicker about flying. Ginny moved away from them, shaking her head in amusement.

"That was brilliant flying Harry. I wish I could fly like that."

"Come on, you're a brilliant flyer, you just need more opportunity to practice that's all! Take a school broom out sometimes, I'll be happy to show you a move or two."

Ginny gave him an oddly smug smile.

"Well, thank you very much! That would be ever so kind of you… Not worried about me stealing your place on the team then?"

"Not this year; you aren't allowed to participate. And I didn't say I'd show you everything… Besides, I know you prefer chasing."

Ginny smiled and shrugged.

"True. Who's the boy behind us? He just sort of showed up without us noticing. It's a bit creepy actually…"

"He has a habit of doing stuff like that. Hang on a minute…"

He stood up, walking up to the enigmatic Hufflepuff. Smith looked up at him by way of greeting.

"Hi Smith. We didn't really have a chance for a proper conversation the other day. Good summer?"

"It was fairly enjoyable yes Harry. And yours?"

"Peaceful. Which is a good thing of course. I didn't know you liked flying – do you play?"

"No, I just have a message for you: There is a secret unfolding."

Harry stared at him blankly.

"What?" he said intelligently.

"There is a secret unfolding. Strange things are begining to stir Harry, and I am fairly sure that you will be at the centre of the secret sooner or later. I am glad you had a peaceful summer Harry; your term time is going to be anything but I fear."

"You're really weird you know that Smith?"

"I have often been told that Harry. I find it generally means that people just do not understand what I am saying to them. Relax while you can."

With that, Smith just stood up and walked away. Harry stared after him in absolute incomprehension, before firmly shoving the encounter to the back of his mind and returning to his friends, just in time to stop Draco and Ron throwing each other off the stands to the pitch below.

* * *

A/N: Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated. 


	6. Harry has a Headache

A/N: And now, the plot begins in earnest.

**Chapter 5: Harry Has A Headache**

Harry wandered to the History of Magic classroom in a better mood than he had been in for the last few days. The pictures that Fred and George had stuck up on the Common Room walls had finally come down, at Percy's insistence (or perhaps more accurately, a stern letter from Mrs Weasley after Percy had informed her). After a few days, Ginny seemed to have taken Colin aside, and explained, kindly but firmly, that Harry didn't really like being photographed. As a consequence, Harry had not had to worry about anyone popping up from behind a statue to take a quick picture of him for almost a week now, which had done wonders for his temper.

And being calmer seemed to be having a good effect on his surroundings as well. The last time Colin had taken a photo of him, he had just been returning from a Quidditch practice that had taken place in the midst of a dreadful storm. As a result, Harry had not been in a good mood to start with. When the flash went off, it had been drowned out by a loud _crack_. While Colin had seemed oblivious, Harry had noticed a pane of glass that had shattered.

As he walked to his seat he smiled at Justin, still sitting in the seat next to him. To his surprise, Justin had a nervous look on his face. He smiled back at Harry, true, but it was a tentative, fleeting smile. It didn't reach his eyes. He immediately turned back to the other Hufflepuffs. Harry stared at him in confusion, but the other boy seemed determined not to meet his eye. Harry took his seat, his good mood somewhat soured. Perhaps, he mused to himself gloomily, Justin actually had noticed the way his magic had split the blackboard a few weeks earlier. Paired with the red eyes he had apparently seen, it wouldn't have left him with a good impression.

He spent the lesson in silence, doodling on some parchment while Binns droned on about an alliance between sorcerers and goblins, a very dull subject even by the ghostly professor's standards. At the end of the lesson, he turned to speak to Justin again, but the Hufflepuff had hurriedly packed his bag; he almost ran out of the room. Harry slumped in disappointment.

* * *

Severus Snape relaxed somewhat as the second years settled into the brewing process. They were attempting a simple healing potion, something that should keep the Hospital Wing adequately supplied for a while. It was one of his duties as Potions Master, but he preferred to use his talents for more complex, more satisfying potions. Of course, if the Gryffindors were up to their usual standards, he would have at least one batch to brew.

He could not fully relax however. Not while _he _was in the room.

Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. Snape would forever owe him a debt, yet he couldn't stand the thought of being indebted to a _Potter_. Snape had been an excellent spy during the war, and many of the 'Light's' victories had come from his information. He sneered at the thought. As if it had only been light wizards who had opposed the Dark Lord. But in the end, he hadn't been good enough. He had been exposed as a traitor, presumably on the word of Caradoc Dearborn, the man who had betrayed Sirius Black, and by extension the Potters. Had the Dark Lord not been defeated – he hesitated to say _destroyed_, not while he still bore the Dark Mark – it would not have been safe for him to leave Dumbledore's side, powerful wizard though he was. Because of Potter, he was free to lead a normal life; none of the Death Eaters left alive outside Azkaban were powerful enough to so much as mess up his hair.

And all thanks to the twelve year old boy in front of him.

He could not bring himself to fawn over the boy as Dumbledore did though. He was James Potter born again, and not just in looks. True, he had never been caught in any of the kinds of misdemeanours that had characterised the Marauders time at the school, but the boy was breathtakingly arrogant. To even _think_ about trying to protect the Stone by himself…

He ignored the tiny voice in the back of his head that whispered Harry would not have needed to try and defend the Stone if Snape had listened to him.

Potter differed from his late, unlamented father in only one respect. Power. James Potter had been a moderately powerful wizard, although skilled enough to do a great deal with that power. Potter junior was another matter. At the end of the previous academic year, he had burnt Quirrell alive, from the inside out, leaving only a ruined husk. The staff had known of Potter's sometimes uncontrollable magic before his arrival at the school, but while accidental magic often had wilder effects than controlled magic, what he had done should not have been possible. And their first lesson this term had only furthered his suspicions. When he had taunted Harry over the photographs that pathetic first year had been taking, Snape had been able to _feel_ Potter's magic, pressing against his skull. The boy had great power, and it was dangerously wild at present.

He thought back to the discussion he had had with Dumbledore at the end of the previous term. The Headmaster had promised that if Potter's accidental magic got any worse, then steps would be taken. Could this be seen as worse? There had been no more spectacular outbursts such as those that had occurred during Potter's first year, but the magic was more noticeable now, a constant presence, to those sensitive enough to such things. That close to the surface, it was far more dangerous, particularly since it seemed to respond to strong emotions, such as anger. The boy was a teenager for Merlin's sake! All his emotions were strong!

Snape could feel it in his bones. Potter was a disaster waiting to happen.

There was a crash from the other side of the room. Snape rolled his eyes, striding over to Neville's table with his practised sneer on his face. Potter might be dangerous magically, but at least he wouldn't be killing anyone through sheer incompetence.

* * *

Harry sat at the table in the Great Hall, picking at his food. Ron was engaged in another stupid argument about the merits of football and Quidditch with Dean; the Muggleborn Gryffindor stubbornly refused to acknowledge Quidditch as a proper sport, claiming the rules didn't make sense. At this statement, Ron had started to splutter incoherently, made worse when Hermione had butted in to agree.

"Dean's right. Most of the match is pointless; it's all about which Seeker catches the Snitch first. It's too valuable, so unless you have an absolutely appalling Keeper the team that catches the Snitch is pretty much guaranteed to win. It's stupid. You might as well just have a race."

Ron just stared at her, unable to form words to express his shock. Hermione and Dean grinned at each other, acknowledging a good job well done, before turning to other matters. Shaking his head, Ron looked at Harry, frowning in concern.

"Are you all right? You look awful."

"Oh, thanks Ron. That makes me feel so much better."

"Well what's up then?"

"Remember Justin Finch-Fletchly?"

Ron frowned again.

"What, that prat from History? What about him?"

"He was being weird today… You remember he was going on about Lockhart the other lesson?"

Ron nodded, as Hermione's head whipped up at the mention of Lockhart. Realising what she had done, she hunched over again, flushing slightly.

"Well, I didn't like being compared to Lockhart, as you can imagine, and I think I let loose some accidental magic. He seemed scared of me today; I was just wondering if that was why."

Hermione looked up as Ron responded, a puzzled expression on her face.

"Why would you care? He seemed a bit of an idiot to me; that's what you thought as well."

"True, but I don't want people scared of me Ron."

Hermione leaned over to him.

"What do you mean you _think_ you let loose some accidental magic? I thought you got a headache before hand, and it's always been fairly impressive whenever I've seen it."

Harry shrugged. It wasn't as if he completely understood why his magic was acting as it was, but he attempted to explain.

"Over the summer my magic started getting… not calmer, because I still lose control of it when I'm angry. But it's less powerful now. I cracked the blackboard in History of Magic the other day; last year I'd probably have destroyed it. But I lose control over it more often now, over lesser things. I don't know if that means it's getting better or not."

Hermione stared at him, an annoyed expression on her face. Harry suspected this was at least partly due to the fact that she knew full well the library would hold no answers for her in this case. But that wasn't the only thing.

"Why the hell didn't you tell us? We could help you out, make sure you don't end up getting too annoyed! Those photos must have made you feel awful!"

"Hermione, I've been dealing with powerful accidental magic since before my parents died according to Sirius. I appreciate the offer, but really, I'm fine."

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"No, really, I am."

The eyebrow went higher.

"Fine, I'll tell you if I'm feeling weird, all right?"

Hermione sat back, a satisfied smile on her face.

"That's just fine Harry. Thank you. And don't worry about Justin; if he really was scared of you then he needs to grow up – he should have seen what you were doing last year!"

Harry bent over his food again, traitorous thoughts about interfering friends running through his head, but he was smiling. Hermione had at least managed to reassure him. As he shovelled more food into his mouth – to a sigh of exasperation from Hermione – the late post owls began to arrive. He looked up at the sound of a familiar screech, and Hedwig swooped down in front of him, carrying a parcel with a letter attached. He tore the envelope open, recognising the handwriting as Remus's.

_Dear Harry,_

_I'm glad to hear that term is going well, although I am disappointed by the news that you have yet another poor Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher; I would have thought that Dumbledore would be trying harder than last year to appoint a good one. I suppose he has his reasons though. I can recommend some decent textbooks if you'd like. As for Snape, I did pass on your message to Sirius, but I'm afraid we then had to 'persuade' him not to come to Hogwarts to express his displeasure; he does take any insult to you personally you know Harry, especially given that he loathes Snape. On the other hand, we've all found the news about your own personal photographer rather amusing – can we all get signed photos for Christmas? Seriously though, if he does hang on your every word, you can easily get him to stop; just tell him. It sounds as if he would respect you enough to tone his adoration down a touch. _

_Onto more academic matters, I hope the enclosed book will aid your little project. It contains information on a wide variety of Muggle and Magical snakes (I combined two books into one new volume for you). I might have to come and visit you; it's astonishing that you're able to conjure living things after such a short period of time, and I'd be fascinated to see you doing it. I'll try and arrange something with Dumbledore (without telling him why, don't worry). A word of advice; concentrate hard on the kind of thing you want to conjure. That should let you change the variety. Do let me know how it goes._

_Good luck, and all the best,_

_Remus_

"Anything interesting?"

Harry looked up to Ron's inquisitive gaze. Relieved that it hadn't been Hermione asking, as she would have undoubtedly wanted to look through the book, Harry just shrugged.

"Just a letter from Remus, he sent me a few things I'd forgotten. Usual kind of stuff, you know."

Ron nodded, the interest already dying in his eyes. Just to make sure, Harry moved the conversation onto the chess game they had played the previous evening, discussing why Ron had beaten him so soundly. As they talked, Harry put the parcel into his bag, covering it with some parchment.

* * *

After lunch, the Gryffindors had another Defence lesson. Given the disaster of the Cornish Pixies, subsequent lessons had removed the practical element altogether. Lockhart wasn't even teaching them spells, which had left Harry in a very bad mood. Instead, Lockhart was getting them to act out passages from his books. This did absolutely nothing good for Harry's temper. Even though they had only had a few lessons, his fellow Gryffindors already knew to leave him alone to brood for an hour or so following a Defence lesson; fortunately they always came before a break of some description, meaning Harry was free to disappear. Ron and Neville had a private bet on what would finally push Harry over the edge into another explosion in class; the favourite was his inevitable acting debut.

Fortunately, Harry was too distracted by the thought of the book in his bag, and whether it would actually be any use to him. Lockhart's recitation of his encounter with the Polruan Poltergeist therefore passed relatively smoothly, save for Seamus Finnegan's woeful impersonation of a poltergeist, apparently based on Peeves. However, he wasn't so distracted as to be completely unaware of his surroundings. Theodore Nott was staring at him from across the room, an unpleasant smirk on his pale face. Harry knew he was probably still annoyed about the spell Harry had hit him with, and was likely to be seeking revenge at some point in the future. He didn't think that Nott would be stupid enough to try anything in the classroom though, and dismissed him from his thoughts.

This proved harder to manage once the lesson had finished.

"_Petrificus Totallus!"_

Harry spun to the side, knocking Hermione to the floor as he did so. Nott was standing behind them, an anticipatory look on his face. Blaise Zabini, Nott's constant companion was nowhere to be seen, presumably distracting Lockhart. Harry drew his own wand, watching Nott carefully.

"This is a really bad idea you know Nott…"

"What's the matter Potter? Scared to damage that goody-goody image you've built up? Are you going to get your cronies to do your dirty work for you?"

Harry blinked in confusion, then looked around. Ron and Neville also had their wands drawn, ready to hex anyone who moved against Harry.

"It's alright guys… I can handle this…"

Nott sneered as the two friends reluctantly lowered their wands.

"You're even more arrogant than I thought Potter. Walking around without a care in the world… You had to have known that this was coming – as if hexing me wasn't bad enough; you had to go and tell Malfoy didn't you! I told you you'd pay…"

"Oh get over it Nott; Madame Pomfrey would have been able to reverse it in a second."

"That's not the point! _Expelliarmus!"_

"_Protego!"_

Hermione squeaked as the spell bounced away from Harry, over her head to fizzle out against the wall. She reached out to drag Harry away, muttering at him.

"Come _on _Harry, this is really stupid…"

Nott laughed.

"Hiding behind a girl Potter? Nothing more than I'd expect…"

Harry's eyes narrowed in anger, and he raised his wand again.

"_Flipendo!"_

The spell hit Nott in the arm, sending him spinning and stumbling back, collapsing to the floor – at Lockhart's feet. The professor was watching, a look of deep shock on his face.

"Mr Potter! I'm surprised at you! You know that magic is not to be used in the corridors, and against a fellow student as well! Detention, this evening; eight o' clock sharp."

Harry and his friends began to protest, but Lockhart silenced them with a glare.

"I'm not interested in excuses. You will attend the detention Harry, or else. Now get going, the lot of you."

Nott and the other Slytherins walked off, grinning over their shoulders at Harry. He stood there silently, mouth set. Hermione scowled after them, before turning to Harry, placing her arm on his shoulder.

"Never mind Harry, at least he didn't take points. Come on, let's go and eat."

Harry sighed and nodded, picking up his bag. None of them noticed the shattered pane of glass a short way down the corridor.

* * *

A few minutes before his detention was due to start, Harry arrived at the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. As he walked through the classroom, the portraits all began to frown and point at him, as if Lockhart had told them why he would be there. The urge to burn them began to rise again, but Harry forced it down. As he approached the stairs, Lockhart opened his office door.

"Ah, Harry, come on in, come in."

Lockhart's office was even more ridiculous than the classroom. There were more portraits hung around the walls, and several fine pairs of robes hung from wardrobes. It looked more like a bedroom than an office, despite the fact that there were staff rooms elsewhere in the castle. Harry was unable to suppress a grimace, which Lockhart seemed to take for admiration.

"Yes it is nice isn't it? It's not much, but it's enough for me Harry. Never let fame go to your head, word to the wise."

Lockhart steered Harry over to the desk in the middle of the room, which was covered in letters.

"Now Harry, I'm aware that you're not exactly unknown in these parts. The Boy-Who-Lived or some such title… Not quite the same as winning the Most-Charming Smile award of course, but then what is?" Lockhart said with a roguish wink.

Harry stared at him incredulously.

"Now, what I'm teaching you in class is obviously extremely important, but I think that a little private tuition outside class could also benefit you Harry. Fame's a tricky beast, you need to know how to deal with it, and I think I can be of some assistance there!"

He pushed a large pile of letters over to Harry.

"I thought we'd start with some fan-mail Harry. It's a long job, but it's got to be done, or people will just lose interest in you, and we don't want that do we? You can start off with some of the more basic ones, you just need to sign my name for them, nothing complicated. We'll cover more advanced stuff later on, how about that?"

Harry nodded slowly, unsure whether this was a stroke of luck or not. Answering fan-mail had to be better than lines or something similar, but Lockhart really was pushing the limits of ridiculousness now. But he took the offered quill, and set to work.

As it turned out, even the minor amusement of seeing what people had written to Lockhart eventually descended into mindless tedium, occasionally punctuated by comments from Lockhart on the nature of celebrity; important advice that Harry would be sure to need apparently. He paid no attention.

As the time passed, Harry's head began to ache. The instant he felt the pain, he froze, concentrating hard. The headache… felt wrong somehow. It wasn't the familiar wrongness of a headache signifying an imminent burst of accidental magic, still recognisable even after its long absence, but something else. It was something foul, something evil, and it was pressing against his skull, as if something was trying to burst out. The best comparison was the sensation he felt whenever he got to close to the site of the Prewitt twins murder. He thought he was going to be sick. The pain suddenly spiked, and Harry gasped. Lockhart looked up at the sound.

"Harry – Great Merlin!"

He hurried round the desk, taking hold of Harry's head.

"Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry had gone deathly pale, as if he had been drained of blood. As Lockhart looked at him, Harry jerked with another spasm of pain. His eyes rolled back, and he fell to the floor, faintly aware of Lockhart calling his name.

Lockhart stared at Harry, his eyes wide. Drawing his wand, he aimed it at Harry's head, and a wave of magic rushed out. Harry jerked again, and his nose began to bleed. Lockhart blinked, swore, and picked him up, running towards the Hospital Wing.

* * *

A/N: Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated.

Also, a quick note regarding relationships in this series. I've had a few queries about them, and have posted a few details on my author page, for those of you interested who haven't already seen it. However, one point I will make here is that romance is not going to be a main plot strand for this series. It will be the 6th story before it makes any significant appearance, and then only briefly.


	7. Bedside Conversations

**Chapter 6: Bed-side Conversations **

Dumbledore looked down at Harry's unconscious body as Lockhart twittered on beside him. On the other side of the bed, Madame Pomfrey and Snape were having a quiet argument about the best potions to use. Despite their disagreement, they had managed to cause a huge improvement; Harry looked so peaceful, a stark contrast to the convulsions he had been suffering when Dumbledore first arrived in the Hospital Wing. Dumbledore sighed deeply, realising he had not heard a word Lockhart had said.

"I'm sorry Gilderoy, can you go over that again please?"

Lockhart beamed magnificently, clearly happy carry on talking.

"Of course Headmaster. He was helping me with some of my mail; from my fans you know, very sweet of them but it does rather overwhelm me occasionally."

On the other side of the bed, Snape snorted in derision.

"It came out of nowhere really. It was clearly an extremely Dark curse someone had used on him, he just collapsed, started twitching. I did everything I could of course, but I rather think that he'll never recover. I mean, the things I've seen… I think I can safely say there is nothing I haven't seen, and if I can't cure it then it can't be done Headmaster."

Out of the corner of his eye, Dumbledore saw Madame Pomfrey and Snape cease their argument, and turn to glare at Lockhart.

"Thank you Gilderoy, but I'll be the judge of that if you don't mind. That will be all."

Lockhart gave a deep bow, nodding to Snape and Pomfrey before taking his leave. As soon as the door was closed, Dumbledore turned to the others.

"Well?"

Madame Pomfrey scowled.

"I'm not certain Albus, but that buffoon certainly didn't help! In fact Mr Potter probably wouldn't be in this condition if it weren't for Lockhart! Some of his injuries are clearly the result of miscast healing magic."

"I suspected as much. What about his other injuries?"

"Something's happened to his magical core. The block on it has – twisted or something, however you want to put it. If anything it's wrapped around him tighter than it was last year."

"A small mercy…"

Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey stared at Snape, speechless. He sneered at them.

"Isn't it obvious? His magic's been even more wild this term. He's close to losing control of it whenever he gets even mildly annoyed now. He isn't doing as much damage when he does lose control of it true, but you don't need to be particularly powerful to notice him when he's in a bad mood. You can feel his magic pressing against you."

Dumbledore sat down on Harry's bed, staring at his student. As he did so, he lowered the barriers he habitually kept raised on his own magic, to prevent people around him being overwhelmed by its power. He flinched. Harry's power was dormant at the moment, since he was unconscious, but Dumbledore was sensitive enough to feel that Snape was right. Harry's magic was humming, pressed down, bound beneath his skin, almost begging to be released. For a brief moment, Dumbledore felt fear, for the first time since he had found the remains of Voldemort at Godric's Hollow. If Harry was that powerful… He was at least as powerful as Tom Riddle had been as a student, before the foul rituals he had used to bolster his magic to the formidable levels he had reached before his downfall. What might Harry do with that power?

He shook the thought from his head. Severus was probably the only person in the world who could find anything bad to say about Harry, and even he would be unlikely to declare him dangerous. He looked back towards Snape, taking note of the look of anticipation in his eyes.

"Harry certainly is a little… different isn't he? You haven't said anything about him before Severus; is it causing problems?"

"A few headaches, nothing more. But he will be a problem, you must see that Headmaster. His magic is too wild, if it gets loose he'll cause chaos!"

"I somehow doubt that Severus."

Snape's eyes narrowed. Dumbledore hastily raised his magical barriers again; Severus was a powerful wizard in his own right. Snape's voice, when he spoke, was low and icy.

"You do recall our discussion last term I trust Headmaster?"

"I do indeed Severus, and I stand by what I said. But I do not believe it will be necessary to remove Harry from school."

Snape held Dumbledore's gaze for a moment, before nodding curtly and striding out of the room, his robes billowing behind him like wings. Dumbledore turned to Madame Pomfrey.

"Do you think you can heal him Poppy?"

She nodded decisively.

"You've seen the improvement since he arrived Headmaster; there isn't a lot I can do about the problems with his magical core, but nobody seems to be able to do anything about that. The damage from Lockhart's attempts at healing him is more serious, but I can repair it. He'll need a couple of day's bed rest, but he should be fine."

Dumbledore nodded in satisfaction.

"Excellent. I'll let his friends know tomorrow, so you can probably expect some visitors."

"As if I could keep them away…"

"True. Goodnight Poppy. Let me know if there's anything I can do."

* * *

Ron opened his eyes with a yawn, dragging himself from the depths of sleep with an effort. He looked at the clock, and smiled slightly. Then he stretched out, going over his mental list of the things he had to do over the weekend; an agreeably short one, assuming one discounted the Defence Against the Dark Arts reading, which wouldn't actually teach him anything even if he made the effort. Safe in this knowledge, he rolled over again, preparing to snatch another hour in bed. However, his new position brought Harry's bed into view.

Harry's empty, apparently unused bed.

Ron sat up, expressions of confusion and anxiety battling for dominance on his face. He hadn't seen Harry since he had left for his detention with Lockhart, earlier the previous evening. He definitely hadn't been back before eleven, when Ron and the others had gone to bed, and Harry liked to stay in bed until at least nine on a Saturday, so he wouldn't be up and about just yet. So where was he?

As he stared at the empty bed, Neville wandered in from the bathroom, towelling his hair dry. He followed Ron's gaze, and nodded.

"You noticed too then? Wonder what's happened to him?"

"What makes you think anything's happened? He could just have fallen asleep downstairs."

"Come on Ron. This is Harry we're talking about. There's never a simple explanation, haven't you worked that out yet?"

"Fair point. You don't seem particularly concerned."

Neville shrugged.

"I'm not. If something urgent had happened McGonagall would have come to get us during the night. And Harry can take care of himself, I doubt anything major's wrong with him. Maybe he lost control of his magic again; a few hours alone with Lockhart would get him that angry you must admit."

Ron nodded slowly. That would make sense. He shoved the worry to the back of his mind as he climbed out of bed, aware that he wouldn't be able to sleep now.

Ten minutes later, the two friends were heading down to the common room, where Hermione was leafing through one of Lockhart's books with a frighteningly intense look on her face. Ginny was over in a corner, talking to some of her friends, and she waved at her brother as he entered the room. Waving back to her, they flopped down next to Hermione, startling her from her reading. She blushed as Ron stared pointedly at the book, and shoved it back in her bag. Then she looked around.

"Where's Harry? Is he coming down?"

"We've no idea. Wasn't in his bed when we woke up, didn't look as if it had been slept in at all, which presumably means something's happened to him."

"How do you work that out?"

Ron and Neville looked at her. She nodded.

"Ok, fair point."

"Neville reckons he might have lost control of his magic again; anything more serious than that and they'd have come and found us wouldn't they?"

"That's probably true… Oh, I hope he's ok!"

Neville reached over to put his arm round her shoulders.

"He'll be fine Hermione, just think about what he took on last year! He'll shake it off like it's nothing, trust me."

Hermione smiled at him, before shouldering her bag.

"Anyone for a trip to the Hospital Wing then?"

* * *

Soon enough, they were sat around Harry's bed in the Hospital Wing, listening as Madame Pomfrey went over the specifics of his injuries. Only Hermione seemed truly able to follow the details. However, as she was able to summarise them as 'nothing serious', Ron and Neville weren't too bothered about the intricacies. Even better, Harry had shifted from unconsciousness to sleep during the night. The only point of concern was that no-one seemed to know what had caused Harry's collapse. Hermione had raised the issue, wondering whether Harry had in fact lost his temper with Lockhart, but Madame Pomfrey had denied this.

"He apparently just collapsed. Professor Snape did say something about his magic being a lot more free this year; it's probable that he just got a little overwhelmed by it. Remember, he's going to be getting a lot more powerful as his core heals, it's bound to affect him a little. Don't worry about him; he'll be up and about in a day or so."

Hermione smiled in relief, nodding at Neville as he leaned over to her, whispering "Told you so" into her ear. Ron stood up to drag some chairs over, which drew an annoyed look from Madame Pomfrey.

"Mr Weasley! There is no point to you staying here; Mr Potter is far from critical, and you will only get in the way as I administer his last potions. You can come back this evening, and not before!"

"But Madame Pomfrey-"

"No! Visiting hour is this evening, and you may come back then. That is my final word on the subject. Haven't you got work to be getting on with?"

Throwing dark looks over their shoulders, the three friends were hurried out of the Hospital Wing. Ron almost immediately started swearing about the strict Medi-Witch, drawing both a scandalised look and a series of stinging rebukes from Hermione, delivered as they made their way back to the common room.

* * *

Ginny had taken the news that Harry was confined to bed in the Hospital Wing badly. Ironically, it was perhaps the fact that she wasn't as close to him as the others that resulted in this. The other three had seen Harry pull through far worse with barely a scratch; even though Ginny had known Harry longer than Hermione had, she had never really seen him in a bad way. The fact that her friend could be struck down so easily had come as a shock. She had also been annoyed by Madame Pomfrey's restriction on visiting, and was almost as vocal about it as Ron, much to Hermione's surprise.

However, she was pragmatic enough to accept that there was little she could do, and the constant reassurances from the older trio eventually calmed her down. When she left for lunch with her classmates, she seemed almost resigned to the fact that this would probably be a common situation.

* * *

Harry's eyes flickered open. He stared at the white ceiling in confusion. The ceiling in Lockhart's office had been a pale blue – which would no doubt emphasise the professor's eyes or something similar – so where was he? He looked round, and groaned. The Hospital Wing. He had so far been there at least once in every term, and had actually spent his entire Easter holiday there the previous year. He was a little bored with it. But the painful ache in his head persuaded him not to make too much of a fuss. Movement to the left of him drew his eye, and he turned to see Madame Pomfrey approaching, carrying several potions on a tray.

"Good afternoon Mr Potter. Feeling better? You were in quite a state when Professor Lockhart brought you in last night I can tell you. Bleeding, shaking, pale as anything…"

"I feel ok… Am I going to be alright?"

Madame Pomfrey put the tray down next to him, holding up one of the potions and shaking it vigorously.

"You will be, if you take all these potions and rest here until tomorrow. Drink this please."

Harry swallowed the green potion, gagging as he did so. It tasted like earth. As the potion went down, he began to feel as if his head was swelling, becoming heavier and heavier.

"Don't worry Mr Potter, it's perfectly normal. You lost quite a bit of blood last night, I'm just replenishing it."

"How… How did I lose blood? I just had a headache…"

Madame Pomfrey's eyes narrowed.

"Professor Lockhart attempted to heal you himself. He was…unsuccessful."

"Doesn't surprise me." Harry muttered.

Madame Pomfrey gave him a slight smile, and turned to the other potions. She passed them to him, and he drank them, shuddering at the taste of each one. Not for the first time, he wondered precisely why healing potions always tasted so foul. He lay back again, feeling drowsy once more. He dimly realised that one of the potions must have been a soporific, and he could just make out something being said about Professor Dumbledore coming to see him as his eyes closed again, Madame Pomfrey's eyes swimming in front of his face.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes once more. He felt much better than he had earlier – much earlier, as a glance out of the window showed him that it was now early evening. He stretched out for the glasses at his bedside as he heard someone move at the end of his bed. Ron and Ginny were sitting there, a look of deep concern on her face, with nervousness fighting with resignation on Ron's. His friend leaned forward, a small smile spreading over his face, wiping the anxiety away.

"Told you he'd be alright didn't I Ginny? Hermione and Neville should be here shortly, they went to get you some food. It's a good thing you did wake up though mate, she'd never have shut up about it if you hadn't. She was nearly crying earlier you know – ow!"

"I was not Ronald and you know it!"

"Alright, alright, you weren't crying! Merlin…"

Harry leaned back, grinning at the scene in front of him. Ron had never really learnt that Ginny was never afraid to fight back when her brothers taunted her, often physically. Harry often teamed up with her when it happened it front of him. When they had first met, she had been too in awe of his reputation as the Boy-Who-Lived to do anything other than stare at him. A few pranks from Fred and George had soon sorted that out – it was hard to live up to the reputation when you had ears twice the size of your head and a singing nose – and they had been firm friends ever since. She was a living embodiment of the famous Weasley temper when she was roused, and her brothers had an unfortunate habit of encouraging that habit.

Ginny finished hitting Ron and turned back towards Harry, her eyes sparkling.

"So. Harry. How are you? What precisely happened?"

Harry shrugged. He thought back to the previous evening, and the sudden foulness that had polluted his brain, and he shuddered.

"Harry?"

Ginny reached out to him, clasping his hand tightly, worry shining once more in her eyes. He smiled at her.

"Don't worry, I'm fine. It's just… it was weird. I was sat there, answering his fan-mail for him – yes, that is what he's having me do, thinks that I need some education in the art of celebrity or something stupid – and I suddenly got this awful headache. It came out of nowhere, and it was just – wrong. It just felt deeply wrong. Then Lockhart tried some spell on me, to heal me, and the next thing I knew I was in here."

Ron stiffened, his face tightening. A red flush was rising up from his neck.

"What do you mean he _tried_?"

"Apparently he cocked it up. He made me worse if anything."

"That _bastard_!"

Ron leapt from his seat, and began to pace up and down, his face a dark red now. Harry shivered. He had never seen Ron this angry before, and it was an unsettling sight. He shared a nervous glance with Ginny, who also seemed perturbed – which was unsettling in itself, since she knew Ron far better than Harry ever would or could.

"Calm down mate, Madame Pomfrey said there wasn't anything seriously wrong, just a few minor injuries-"

Ron whirled round to face them.

"That's not the point! He's our teacher, and he hurt you. What the hell's Dumbledore playing at, hiring someone like him? Being incompetent is one thing Harry, but that's nothing compared to actually endangering your life!"

"He hardly did that; he's nowhere near powerful enough to do that. And at least Hermione might cool down around him a little now."

"How can you be so calm about this?"

"I'm not calm Ron, but I also know full well what Sirius would do to him if he ever found out, and I rather like having my godfather at liberty. Azkaban wouldn't suit him."

Harry and Ron stared at each other for a few, brief moments, before Ron flopped back down into his chair, scowling. Ginny exhaled, relaxing.

"Fine. But I'm going to tell Fred and George. They'll make his life hell, even if you won't."

Harry grinned viciously.

"Works for me."

* * *

Harry dreamed…

_He dreamt the old dream, of the attack on Godric's Hollow. And it was the old dream, not the version he had had over the summer. He dreamed of a flash of green light, and of screams, but he did not see the killing. He did not see his mother. He did not see Voldemort. _

_And then his dream changed. The green light faded away, diminishing to a single bright spot, which seemed to get closer, closer… Then he was floating – flying? But there was no broom – over a wasted landscape, a withered forest, a burning town. There were _things_ down there, hideous things, unnatural things that seemed part reality, part dream and part something else. Harry did not know them, but he knew one thing. They were totally magical. They were magic, created from thin air, and existing only through someone's will. He could not say how he knew, only that it was obvious to those who looked._

_As he stared, he became aware of someone whispering in his ear. He turned, and turned, but there was no-one there. He turned again, the whispering louder now, a single phrase repeated over and over again._

_  
__**Mighty One Mighty One Mighty One Mighty One Mighty One Mighty One Mighty One Mighty One Mighty One Mighty One Mighty One Mighty One Mighty One…**_

_The whispering continued, getting louder, louder, ever louder, until it was almost a shout, deafening him, hurting him, but there was still no-one there. And then everything changed. The unnatural creatures were gone. And his surroundings… They were a vision of beauty. He was no longer flying, but standing on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea. The grass was a vivid green, the sea was peaceful, disturbed only by dolphins breaking the surface. There was a cool breeze rushing around him, and he felt – strange. He felt more calm than he could ever remember having felt, but at the same time he wanted to run, jump, shout for joy._

_The voice was still whispering, but it was saying something else now._

_**Consequences and Ideals Mighty One, Consequences and Ideals**_

_Harry turned round and round, but still there was no-one there._

"_Who are you? What do you want? What do you mean?"_

_**You will learn…**_

* * *

As always, reviews are greatly appreciated.

This is a day early, as I may not have 'net access tomorrow. Also, I don't have chapter 7 finished yet; it's been a busy term for the last few weeks, and I'm also contemplating slightly re-working some of the plotstrands for Sneaking Serpent in a fashion that may affect future books. Chapter 7 is half done though, so all being well, I should be able to post next week as well. In fact, since I have the interlude that will follow chapter 7 finished, I may be kind and post twice as a Christmas treat.


	8. A True Friend

A/N: You would actually have had this chapter earlier this evening, but after uploading I kinda forgot to add it to the story, which is a little stupid. Oh yeah; cliffhanger at the end. Sorry.

**Chapter 7: A True Friend Will Curse Your Enemies For You**

_Saturday Night_

Dumbledore sat at his desk, frowning, his Pensieve placed in front of him. The silver basin was full to the brim, shimmering with silver light. A close observer would have seen a young boy in the memory at the top, giggling as various toys floated around him, bobbing up and down above his head. That particular memory had drawn a smile from Dumbledore. It had been Harry's first incident of accidental magic following his arrival at the Dursley's; unfortunately for them, it had taken place in the middle of a shop. A squad of Obliviators had been required to clean up the ensuing mess, and the Minister had not been very happy.

It was one of many memories of Harry's accidental magic that Dumbledore had been studying, from before he started at Hogwarts and after his arrival. It had always been clear that Harry would be a powerful wizard; even without the evidence of his accidental magic, it would have been a huge surprise if the son of such a gifted witch and wizard had not been powerful. Harry had been able to put more power behind his spells from the moment he lifted his wand, a fact proved by his ability with the Knockback Jinx – instead of a spell to use for target practice, it had become a useful defensive spell in Harry's hands, as Theodore Nott had found out to his cost the day before.

When Dumbledore had learnt that a significant portion of Harry's power had been blocked off by the Dark magic wrapped around his magical core, he had been shocked, but not overly concerned. He had assumed that Harry's magic would slowly grow more powerful over time, that Harry would have time to grow into his power. This did not seem to be the case. After his encounter with Quirrell, Harry seemed to have become much more powerful much quicker than any of them had anticipated, although Dumbledore had not realised how powerful until he had lowered his barriers in the Hospital Wing. However, even this had not been too much of a surprise, once he had thought about it. He had observed that Harry's magic, like many wizards and witches, was affected by his emotions. He had also observed that the more magic Harry used, the more the barrier on his magic broke up – therefore, it was a logical conclusion that if he had used a lot of magic in a highly stressful situation, he would have broken up far more of the barrier, thus releasing more magic for him to use.

But it should have been obvious. The fact that Dumbledore had had to look for signs of more powerful magic in Harry was worrisome. Ironically, the fact was that Harry had too much control over his magic; he should have been losing control of it far more often than he had done if it had increased so rapidly. By all accounts, he had suffered from one minor accident after a nightmare during the holidays, but nothing more. At the moment, he wasn't sure whether Harry's magic was being suppressed by the barrier or by Harry's will. He knew which he preferred; if Harry had that much instinctual control over his magic at such a young age, then perhaps Severus was right to be worried about him. Bad things happened when a wizard was too closely entwined with their magic. Voldemort was only one example; Dumbledore privately believed that at least part of the problem had been Tom Riddle's fascination with his own power. He had become lost in it, ruled by his magic, succumbing to the wildness that was, essentially, the root of all Dark magic, no matter what the Ministry blathered on about. Dumbledore knew the power of such fascination. He had seen it corrupt Grindelwald, indeed, had nearly been corrupted by it himself; he supposed that in a way, the death of his sister had at least prevented that fate, however awful it had been.

Dumbledore couldn't really see Harry falling to the Dark as Tom Riddle had, but it wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on him.

* * *

Harry's friends were sat around the fire in the Gryffindor common room, brooding on their injured friend. Ron and Hermione were carefully ignoring each other; when Hermione had tried to excuse Lockhart's incompetence, Ron had lost his temper with her in a very impressive display, which had caused Madame Pomfrey to deduct points. On the other hand, Neville and Ginny were talking quietly, as Neville went over the injuries Harry had suffered in his first year; ordinary classroom accidents as well as the more serious injuries he had suffered against the troll and Quirrell. Ginny was relieved to hear that Harry had bounced back from them all incredibly quickly, even quicker than normal for magical people, who would shrug off injuries that could kill a Muggle – a sign of his powerful magic looking after him. On the other side of the room, in a quiet corner, Fred and George were twitching as they drew up a list of pranks to pull on Lockhart, their protective instincts having been roused by Ron's information. 

A significant proportion of the rest of the room was staring at the group by the fire, whispering to themselves. It hadn't taken long for people to notice that Harry had been absent all day, and given his past exploits, and the harassed expressions on his friend's faces, the rumour mill had gone into overdrive. However, past experience had suggested it wouldn't be a good idea to go and make enquiries.

They remained by the fire most of the evening, as the other Gryffindor students gradually left, to bed or just to work more privately. By the end of the evening, the group had settled down, and were feeling a little more cheerful. Ron and Hermione had even started talking again, albeit carefully, avoiding sensitive subjects. However, there was one student who still wanted to talk to them. Colin Creevey's nervousness over approaching the older students was tempered by his burgeoning friendship with Ginny, and as his other friends disappeared he gradually moved over to them, trying to remain inconspicuous.

Hermione had seen him coming over though, and smiled at him in greeting, boosting his confidence. Ron let out a soft sigh of irritation when the younger boy sat down, but forced himself to greet him as well. They sat there, waiting for Colin to say something, until Hermione broke the silence.

"What can we do for you?"

"Well… I was just wondering what was wrong with Harry. I mean, he did say we were friends, so I guess I should know…"

Hermione smiled at him in appreciation.

"I'm sure he'd be delighted to know that you care Colin. But he's fine, he's just being kept in the Hospital Wing until Madame Pomfrey's totally satisfied. He passed out in detention last night, but it's nothing serious."

"What? What did Professor Lockhart have him doing?"

"Oh, it wasn't anything to do with that, he was just helping the professor answer some mail. He just felt a little ill."

Colin nodded, pleased.

"That's good. It'd be awful if he was seriously ill or something!"

"It certainly would."

The foursome watched Colin walk off, smiling to himself. Neville shook his head slowly.

"His obsession with Harry is a little creepy isn't it? I mean, even the people he knows weren't _that_ interested. I'm glad I don't have a stalker."

Ginny frowned at him.

"I think it's quite sweet. At least he's taking an interest, and not just hiding away with the other Muggleborns. And Harry is rather fascinating you must admit. I used to be quite the fan myself. Then I met him, and the illusion shattered."

Ron grinned at her.

"Didn't you have one of the action figures? I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

* * *

The next day, Colin's interest seemed a little less sweet. 

Harry had been dismissed from the Hospital Wing mid-morning, with a stern warning to take it easy for a few days. He also had a mild pain potion, to counter the itching in his scar if it got any worse. He had woken up in that morning with an ache in the centre of his forehead, as if someone had hit him bang on his scar, but it had died down within a few minutes. As he made his way to the common room, he bumped into Ron and Ginny, who were heading downstairs. Ginny pulled him into a hug, while Ron rolled his eyes, settling for a firm slap on the back.

"Where are you guys off to?"

"Hagrid's. He won a dragon egg in a card game, and he's going to send it to Charlie."

Harry stared at them.

"A _dragon egg_? What kind of card game was he playing?"

Ron shrugged.

"Probably best not to ask. Hermione and Neville are in the common room if you want to see them, or you can come down with us."

"I'll go back; get Hermione's lecture about catching up on my homework over and done with. Say hi to Hagrid for me!"

Harry continued on up the stairs, eager to see his other friends. Sure enough, Hermione began to lecture him almost immediately on getting his work done, and he quickly scribbled a few answers for his Defence homework to appease her. However, he then dragged Hermione and Neville away from the copy of the Quibbler that they were giggling over to go for some lunch. As they walked towards the Great Hall, Harry noticed a few people – Gryffindors mainly – staring at him, then turning away to mutter to their friends. Once, he thought he heard someone snigger as he went past. Hermione and Neville were still giggling over the idea of Snorkacks or something, so he said nothing. Ron and Ginny were already at the table when they arrived, with much to tell them about Hagrid's dragon; a Norwegian Ridgeback apparently, who Hagrid had, for some reason, named Norbert. According to Hagrid, he was a loveable softie. According to Ron, he was a vicious beast with no business being anywhere near the school. Either way, Charlie had agreed to collect it at the weekend, which both Weasley's were looking forward to. As they ate, Harry noticed more people staring at him; they were different to those he had seen on the staircase though. This observation was more anticipatory. As he met the eyes of a Hufflepuff student – Macmillan or something – someone hit him on the shoulder.

"What's this I hear Potter? Detention a little too much for you?"

Harry sighed as he turned around. They hadn't even reached Halloween yet, and he was already sick of Nott. If he carried on like this, then one of them would be dead before they finished Hogwarts, he was sure of it. Nott was staring down at him, a gleeful look on his face.

"Your stalker's been talking about you a lot this morning Potter. Says you passed out while answering some mail; that's possibly the most pathetic thing I've ever heard."

At his side, Harry heard Hermione suck in her breath, but Nott was carrying on.

"I mean, it would explain a lot; that's the only reason anyone would want to associate with the Weasley's. You must be forming your own social group; the utterly useless."

Nott had learnt from their previous disputes. The words had barely left his mouth before his wand was raised, a shield charm springing into existence in front of them, only a breath before Ron and Ginny's spells flew past Harry's head. They bounced off, one to the ceiling, and one, by very bad luck, straight back past Harry. Nott began to roar with laughter, and Harry turned round to see Ron sitting hunched over, a miserable expression on his face and a large pool of slugs on his plate.

Ron's expression fell further when he saw Professor McGonagall walking over, a furious – and entirely unsympathetic – expression on her face. Ron sank ever deeper into his seat under her tirade, going bright red in anger and embarrassment, the smirk on Nott's face growing wider. It was diminished somewhat by McGonagall taking five points from Slytherin for provocation, but returned full force as McGonagall turned her attention to Ginny. By the time she had finished, both Weasley's were in detention, and Gryffindor was twenty points down from their earlier total. Fred and George had 'kindly' volunteered to take Ron to Madame Pomfrey to get his slug problem cleared up, although Harry rather suspected it might take them awhile to get him there; the direct aftermath was the best time to take advantage of something so humiliating after all, and they would have little sympathy for their little brother, given that he had been stupid enough to try and hex someone in full view of every teacher in the school.

Harry shook his head as the brothers walked out, turning to the others. Ginny was still glowing with embarrassment, not to mention anger, her head bowed much like Ron's. What was strange however, was a faint blush on Hermione's face. Harry looked askance at her, and she looked down at her own plate.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked her.

Hermione looked up at him, allowing some of her bushy hair to fall into her face, as if it could shield her from any anger.

"Well… Colin Creevey was asking about you last night, and… Well, I thought it was really sweet, you know, that he was taking an interest, showing he cared and so I – I kind of told him about what had happened to you."

Harry stared at her.

"And you didn't think that he might talk about it with someone? He's famous for his obsession with me Hermione – I'm pretty much the only person he talks about! I've been getting funny looks ever since I left the Hospital Wing because of that!"

Hermione looked mortified.

"I'm really sorry Harry, I just didn't think! I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it, he's just a little naïve, that's all…"

"Forget it Hermione. It's already done. This is Hogwarts after all; with any luck something a little more interesting will turn up for us to talk about before too long."

They sat there for a few moments, before a snort of laughter from behind them broke the silence. Harry turned round to see Nott swooning while Blaise Zabini held up a piece of paper in front of him. Harry scowled, and got up to leave. As he did so, he felt a momentary flash of dizziness, and he stumbled, but it had passed before anyone else noticed. Hermione and Neville followed him out, Neville attempting to distract his friend with talk of the approaching Halloween feast.

None of them noticed the small snake that had appeared under the Gryffindor table. It started to slither away, but it vanished barely a moment later.

* * *

It was a week later. By and large, the sniggers that had followed Harry wherever he went had died out, kept going only by a few die-hards who actively disliked him; largely friends of Nott he'd noticed, whether from Slytherin or not. Another point of dissatisfaction was the state of the weather – not a major interest for him normally, but Quidditch practice in hail was fast becoming one of his least favourite ways to pass the time. 

In fact, he had just finished a practice in some of the worst weather he had ever experienced. Uncharacteristically for a wizard, he was praying for better weather for their first match, against Slytherin. If it didn't improve, then he would lose his only serious advantage over Draco, making it a much tougher match than it should have been. It was in this state, his clothes filthy and his temper only mildly better that he encountered Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor Ghost, who appeared to be in a bad mood himself. Since it was always a good idea to be polite to the ghosts – people appearing in your food at mealtimes was always disturbing – Harry spent a few moments making polite conversation. Just as he began to feel that Nick's displeasure would be worth escaping his constant whinging, they were surprised by Filch, in his customary bad mood.

Dragged back to the caretakers office, Harry resigned himself to spending a few nights scrubbing floors around the castle, Filch's traditional punishment for those he caught 'befouling the castle'. A loud bang provided a timely distraction however, and while Filch stormed off in pursuit of the culprit, Harry leafed through the papers on the desk, trying to find his punishment slip. However, the first thing he found was a leaflet for a 'Kwikspell' course, which he swiftly covered up. He did not think that Filch would be over impressed with anyone finding out he was actually a squib. Sadly for Harry, Filch's eagle-eye for dirt also seemed to apply to his desk; he noticed that the papers had been moved and dismissed Harry, threatening dire consequences should the news ever reach the Hogwarts grapevine. Since Filch was on good terms with Professor Snape, Harry was not inclined to call his bluff; there was a good chance the punishment would be truly awful. His encounter with Filch led to more bad news. The crash had been caused by Peeves, at Nick's urging. This put Harry in Nick's debt, much to his displeasure, which in turn resulted in an invitation to Nick's Deathday Party, something that promised to be almost as much fun as it sounded.

A few hours later, Harry was grouching about his afternoon to his friends. Ron took the news rather badly.

"Oh that's just marvellous! I've got my detention with Filch tonight, Merlin only knows what he'll have me doing if you've got him in a bad mood. Thanks a bunch."

"Well I'm sorry! If I'd known I'd have obviously waited outside until he'd gone to bed. Even Lockhart would have been able to track me given how much mud was dripping off me."

"Haven't you ever heard of a cleaning charm?"

"I'd have thought you more than anyone would remember that little rule about no magic outside of class, don't you remember your little slug outbursts?"

"Don't remind me, I still throw up the odd one or two… And that's not the point!"

"Will you both shut up!"

Harry and Ron both looked at Hermione, who was staring at them in horror.

"This is nothing serious enough to argue about! You're good friends!"

They looked at each other, then back at Hermione.

"Hermione," Harry said cautiously, "we aren't arguing."

"No, we're just trying to prove that we're better than each other."

She stared at them.

"Well, don't you think it's rather pathetic?"

"What, it's not like you don't argue with us over the slightest thing" said Ron with a smile.

Hermione stared at him, apparently trying to come up with a suitable response, but in the end she just stood up, tossing her head and walking purposefully from the room. Harry and Ron looked at each other in confusion, while Neville glared at them in reproach.

"Couldn't you be a little more sensitive? You know she doesn't like arguments."

"Yeah, but she ought to know we don't mean anything by it. I've known Ron since I was six, a little argument about cleaning isn't going to damage that much."

"Still, you could give it a try couldn't you?"

"If it'll make you happy Nev, anything. When's Ginny doing her detention Ron?"

"Tonight, same as me. Dunno who she'll be with though."

As it turned out, Ginny was following Harry in having a detention with Lockhart. When she returned a few hours later, she revealed that she had had a much more interesting time than Harry had; since she wasn't a celebrity, she was actually required to do something educational – which meant she had actually been set to research a topic of her choice and write about it. The closest contact she had had with any of his fan-mail was knocking a stack of it over. That said, like Harry, she did end up going straight from detention to bed, her research having apparently been worthy of Hermione.

Both the Weasley's were exhausted after their detentions as a matter of fact. Ron had been set to polishing the trophy room. Not an especially difficult task, but complicated by the remnants of the hex he had attempted to cast on Nott; he had vomited slugs onto one trophy, an award for special services to the school.

"It was weird though. I must have polished that thing about fifty times before that git was satisfied, but I barely noticed what was on it. I can't even remember who it was for – someone called Riddle I think. I know I'm not the brightest kid in the school, but you'd think I'd remember more about it than that!"

"Nah, I guess they all blend into one after a while. There's only so much silver the eye can take Ron."

"Yeah, well it's not as if I ever get to see much of it anyway…"

Harry and Neville swiftly steered the conversation away from silver; it was clearly associated most heavily in Ron's mind with sickles, or more precisely, his lack of them.

* * *

It was two weeks later, and things were looking up. The weather had improved – not exactly balmy, but Harry could put up with the cold while he was flying. In addition, even Nott seemed to have decided he had got as much mileage out of Harry's collapse as he could, and no-one was sniggering behind Harry's back anymore. On the other hand, it was the day before Halloween, the day before Harry's least favourite day of the year. And that was before you took into account the fact that he had promised to spend his evening socialising with dead people. 

Harry was walking back to the common room from the classroom he had taken over for his practice with the _Serpensortia_ spell to get ready for the party. He was trying to think of anything weirder than a party to celebrate your death; so far, despite all that had happened to him, nothing had managed to top it. Then he noticed the boy standing at the end of the corridor he was walking along, and he nodded grimly. Without question, Zacharias Smith was the weirdest person he knew, and easily took the top place in his list. Smith nodded to him as he drew closer, and stepped out into his path.

"Smith. What can I do for you?"

"It is what I can do for you that concerns me Harry Potter. You are too late."

"Too late for what? I'm on time for the party, or is this leading up to you telling me that someone's going to try and hurt me again?"

"Possibly. I can't be certain about that. Nevertheless, you are too late to stop events totally. There is something dangerous coming Harry Potter."

"You couldn't be more specific could you? I mean, some of our lessons are dangerous, so if you've just come to tell me that I'm going to mess up a potion then I didn't need you to tell me that thanks."

"Nothing so mundane sadly. But as I said, I cannot always be certain. Have fun at the party Harry."

With that, Smith turned away, walking back the way Harry had come from. Harry shouted after him.

"Oi! What in Merlin's name are you talking about? Smith!"

Smith paid him no attention.

"I could really learn to hate that kid."

Harry turned round to continue his journey, but almost immediately bumped into another Hufflepuff student, a girl. She glared at him in a rather frightening manner, and hurried off after Smith.

* * *

The Deathday Party was everything he had expected and more. The food was rotten – literally. The guests were tedious, scary, just plain weird, or all three, with the exception of Moaning Myrtle, a ghost who was as depressing as she was utterly, insanely weird in Harry's considered view. There was something wrong with someone who haunted a toilet in a school surely? Peeves made a few attempts to liven the proceedings, but, given the largely dead audience, he decided to forget about restraint and just go crazy, resulting in some frankly dangerous jokes. When Nick decided to actually make a speech, Harry decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and beat a hasty retreat. 

He headed straight back to the common room. The others had agreed to bring him some food from the feast, rather than risk wandering around looking for the kitchens later on. He was not feeling in the best of moods; he always spent Halloween feeling fairly miserable, and commemorating his parents by hanging around with dead people made this feeling even worse.

As he began to climb the stairs, he stopped, the hair on the back of his neck bristling. He winced in pain as his head began to ache, right in the middle of his scar. Then he heard it, a low voice, like the wind in the trees:

"_So hungry… I must feed, let me kill, let me __**feast!**_"

His eyes widened in shock, and he sprinted up the stairs, pulling his wand from his robes. The voice echoed in his ears, calling to mind encounters beneath the school with Quirrell, in the Forest with unknown attackers…

As he reached the second floor, he began to hear the voice more clearly, and the pounding in his head intensified. He staggered, raising his hand to his scar; when he pulled it away, there were spots of blood on his fingers. He forced his concern to the back of his mind surprisingly easily, and charged round the corner, wand raised. There was a figure standing outside Myrtle's flooded bathroom, someone he recognised. He shouted their name, before falling silent as he noticed the shadow on the wall. It looked like –

And then he was flying backwards, ribs cracking as he was hit in the chest by a powerful blast of magic. He hit the wall with a dull thud before falling to the floor. As darkness clouded over him, he heard footsteps coming towards him…

* * *

A/N: Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated. I should be updating tomorrow as well, Monday at the latest. 


	9. Interlude: The Chamber Opened

Specially for LupinandHarry...

A/N: All references to 'the host' mean the person who has been possessed by Riddle, just in case it isn't totally clear.

**Interlude: The Chamber Opened**

Tom Riddle was very smart. He had made his first Horcrux at the age of 16, a feat unprecedented in Wizarding history, something that could also be said of the relish with which he had disposed of his father. Once that had been taken care of, he had enhanced his Horcrux with several immensely complex enchantments, which he was still proud of many years after leaving Hogwarts, even after learning far more showy magic, even after becoming so feared that people refused to even utter his name. So no blame could seriously be attached to the person who had found his old school diary. They had been lost the moment they touched it, even that brief contact allowing Riddle access to their mind.

Everyone's mind is different. This is the first thing a student of Legilimency learns. It might be something natural, it might represent a man-made structure. Whatever it is, it will be something associated with security, safety. The mood affects it; a good mood will result in a beautiful landscape, or fairytale castle, or whatever the subject's mind resembles, whereas a bad mood will result in something from a gothic horror story.

This person was different.

When Tom Riddle had arrived inside his new host's head, he had seen their minds centre, a representation of something Riddle took to be his host's home. Several weeks later, and this mental fortress was barely recognisable. It had been ravaged, now looking as if it was about to fall to the ground. This was because, in a sense, it was. Riddle had ripped into his host's mind to create a secure hiding place. He had seen, even from a brief scan of some surface memories, that at least one person he knew to be a skilled Legilimens were at Hogwarts, and he could not risk discovery. He was now so firmly entrenched in the host mind that it could take months, possibly years to totally heal his host. Not that he cared.

Riddle had been waiting for this for weeks. The moment he gained consciousness inside the mind that he now called home, he had been aware that he had a unique opportunity. Dumbledore would never suspect his host of opening the Chamber, especially when he was well aware of the Heir's identity. His unfinished 'school project' could be resumed. One day after awakening, he had 'guided' his host into using the second floor bathroom, looking out from behind their eyes. He had been annoyed to discover that his last victim, Myrtle, had decided to haunt the toilet, but it wasn't an insurmountable problem.

Then he had heard about Harry Potter's invitation to the Deathday party.

Riddle had never been a particularly jovial person, but he came very close to dancing a jig when he heard this. Every ghost in the castle would be there, including Myrtle, and everyone else would be at the Halloween Feast! Perfect seclusion for his first trip to the Chamber; he couldn't have done better if he'd planned it himself – which given his prodigious cunning, was saying something.

He had his host feign illness the night of the Feast – serious enough to warrant bed rest, but mild enough to avoid interference from anyone. As soon as everyone had left, he took full control of his host's mind and body, heading straight to the second floor bathroom.

Sure enough, it had been empty. He was unable to suppress a slight laugh as he hissed at the sinks; it was so easy! Dumbledore really was a fool… The sinks split apart with a low grinding sound and a flash of white light, water pouring from the shifted pipes. There was a pipe to slide down, but that was hardly an appropriately dignified form of transport for the Heir of Slytherin; a Levitation charm was much better suited.

Riddle looked around as he moved through the murky passages miles underneath the school. Even here, little had changed. To Riddle, there was a curious beauty in the crafting; he could sense the subtle and clever magic that had been woven into the tunnels, shimmering gently to his powerful eyes. The ornate door to the Chamber was even more impressive, beautiful silver snakes that almost seemed alive, incredible jewels for eyes, and pulsing wards, again visible to Riddle's sensitive eyes only. The snakes moved aside, unlocking the door as they did so, when he hissed a command at them.

Riddle didn't pause as he walked into the Chamber, heading straight for the enormous statue of Slytherin in the centre. Kneeling in front of it, he hissed again:

"_Speak to me Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four!"_

The statue's mouth opened, and a noise came from inside. Riddle waited as the basilisk hidden inside uncoiled, slithering out to face its master. It instinctively lowered secondary eye-lids to prevent the person kneeling before it being turned to solid stone while still allowing it to see.

"_It has been many years since I was released from this place, and you are not the one who did so last time. What would you have of me?"_

"_I am the same one who released you to feed all those years ago your majesty; I inhabit a different body for the moment, but rest assured my aims are still the same."_

"_I care not for your aims – I desire only food. It has been so long since I hunted."_

"_You can do so tonight. Muggleborns have plagued this castle for too long – I am going to eradicate this generation once and for all, and you shall have all the food you can eat! Rise to the surface, King of Serpents!"_

The basilisk wound its way back to the pipe, following Riddle as he floated back up, both the serpent and the human hissing as they moved. Myrtle was still absent, but there was a noise from outside. Riddle walked to the door, his feet splashing in the pool of water, and opened it to reveal Mrs Norris, the caretaker's cat. She looked up at him, and arched her back, hissing. She backed away, and then the basilisk's gaze hit the water. Mrs Norris shifted to look at the new threat, and saw the reflection of the snake's golden eyes in the water. She instantly froze, stiff as a board, falling on her side.

Riddle worked forward to examine the cat. He was surprised at the Petrification; he had thought that nothing would happen unless one looked directly into the Basilisk's eyes – he would clearly have to be more careful. It wasn't as if he, or the body he was inhabiting, was immune to the deadly gaze if the eyelids weren't lowered. The Basilisk coiled around the pillars at the entrance to the bathroom, hissing softly to him, pleading to be allowed to feed. Riddle absentmindedly Transfigured a wall hanging into a dog, and the serpent lunged, snapping it up and devouring it. A cold smile crossed Riddle's face. The Petrified cat might actually prove to be useful. Moving swiftly, he picked it up, hanging it from a torch bracket. He then aimed his wand at the wall, carving a message into it with a blaze of fire:

_**Enemies of the Heir beware; The Chamber of Secrets has been opened.**_

As he stared at his work in satisfaction, he became aware of the sound of running feet. He turned to look down the corridor as someone came flying round the corridor – a young boy, maybe a second year at most. The boy shouted something, but Riddle couldn't be bothered to listen. Instead, he just sent a powerful jolt of magic towards the boy, sending him flying backwards several feet down the corridor. He strolled towards the prone body, bending down to examine him. He gasped as he saw the scar on the boy's forehead, and realised who the boy was.

Harry Potter. How ironic. Riddle was strongly tempted simply to blast the boy into oblivion there and then, but he had learnt what had happened to his older self, the great Lord Voldemort. Riddle wasn't about to make the same mistake, not until he knew why the boy had been able to survive. However, he wasn't sure how much the boy had seen, so there was really only one choice… He raised his borrowed wand and cast an "_Obliviate_" at the prone boy, altering the memory of his encounter. He didn't have time to do a perfect job – it would be obvious that his memory had been altered if anyone was rummaging around inside Potter's mind, but they would be unable to break the spell without causing serious mental damage, so strong was his spell. Turning back to the Basilisk behind him, he hissed once more, and the serpent obediently slithered back down the passage to the Chamber, ready for the next time Riddle called it.

For his part, Riddle ran back to his host's bedroom. The amount of magic he had used against Potter had tired him out, but that was all to the good as well. It would leave his charming host drained and weary as well, lending support to the story of illness should it ever be questioned.

As he ran, Riddle smiled. It was good to be back.

* * *

A/N: And on that seasonal note... I hope you all have a very merry Christmas!


	10. The Chamber of Secrets

**Chapter 8: The Chamber of Secrets**

There had been several times when Harry had been intensely grateful for his powerful magic. It had, on a number of occasions, saved his life. Had he been conscious directly following his first encounter with Tom Riddle, he would undoubtedly have been extremely grateful once more. The feeling wouldn't have lasted, not even for a minute, as his body was twisted and contorted into shapes it shouldn't have been able to achieve, his magic running free, healing all his physical injuries. Had someone been performing Legilimency on him, they would have seen tendrils of magic lashing out at the magic of the Memory Charm Riddle had place on him, albeit to no avail. Riddle had, in effect, been casting with two magical cores to power his spell, and even as a teenager he had been more powerful than Harry. The charm would only be destroyed with the destruction of the diary. Regardless, mere minutes after Riddle had fled, after the Basilisk had returned to its lair, Harry's ribs had healed, and he was lying there without a scratch.

This would later turn out to be rather unfortunate.

* * *

Harry came to to the sound of people shouting, and a few screams. People were staring at him, pointing, scared looks on their faces. He couldn't for the life of him work out why; had he done something? Lost control of his magic? Why were they staring at him? He sat up slowly as someone grabbed him by the shoulder. It was Draco, whispering urgently into his ear, but Harry was still too dazed by – what? He couldn't remember! – to take any notice.

Then he saw the wall, and Mrs Norris.

It came flooding back to him, up to a point. He had left the party and then – that voice. He had followed it and then… Nothing. He had been _obliviated_. Draco was still whispering in his ear, something about getting Harry away from there.

And then the crowd fell silent, as Dumbledore strode through, followed by the other staff. His expression was grave. He stood in front of the wall, staring at the message. Harry stared at him, the threat reflected in his headmaster's glasses, and as he looked, he felt a distinct sense of disquiet. Dumbledore was worried. Worse, he was puzzled. He clearly did not understand what had happened. Then Dumbledore turned away from the wall, to examine Mrs Norris, and the look was gone, replaced by a comforting expression for the students. Beside him, Filch was sobbing hysterically. As Harry watched Dumbledore study the eerily still cat, he became aware that people were still watching him. He looked over his shoulder, and was shocked at the expressions on people's faces. Fear. Anger. Hate. They blamed _him _for this! Draco was still standing beside him, a look of concern on his face.

"What happened Harry? We all heard something, and when we got here you were lying on the floor."

"I don't know… I was heading back upstairs when I – I heard something, and… There's nothing, I can't remember anything after that Draco!"

Draco frowned, and put his hand on Harry's shoulder, trying to comfort him. Harry's gaze flickered across the crowd again, and noticed Nott staring at him appraisingly. Harry looked away quickly, and his gaze met some Hufflepuff students. Smith was there, a sad expression on his face. By contrast, Ernie Macmillan, a rather pompous second year, had a smug, triumphant expression, as if he had been vindicated in something. Suddenly, Hermione and Neville burst through the crowd, hurrying over to Harry, anxious expressions on their faces. They stopped, taking in the message on the wall in horror. As they took in the scene, Harry heard Dumbledore call his name. He turned around to see the headmaster looking at him, a refreshingly gentle look in his eyes.

"Perhaps you can tell us what happened Harry?"

Filch span round, pointing at Harry.

"I'll tell you what happened! He attacked her, he tried to kill her! He – he knows I'm a squib!"

"No, I didn't do anything, I don't even know what's happened to her!"

"She has been Petrified Harry; and I do not believe that Harry could have done this Argus. It is magic far beyond any student, let alone a second year, and it would require an enormous amount of power to cast the spell. Again Harry, could you tell me what happened?"

"I – I don't know sir."

Dumbledore sighed heavily, and then looked around, seeming to notice the looks on the other students faces for the first time. He frowned, and then spoke again.

"Will you come with us please?"

"Professor, I didn't – "

"Just come with us Harry."

Harry walked towards them, conscious of the ever more hostile stares on his back. As the staff disappeared towards Lockhart's office, he looked back over his shoulder, smiling slightly as he saw Hermione, Neville and Draco following at a distance. Ron was nowhere to be seen.

Striding into the office, Dumbledore laid Mrs Norris gently on the desk, and began to wave his wand in a complicated pattern over her. Harry stood quietly, watching him nervously. As the minutes dragged on, Harry began to look around the room. Lockhart was babbling on about something, but no-one was paying any attention. The heads of houses were gathered around Dumbledore, waiting for his opinion – except for Snape. Snape was watching Harry. Harry held his gaze for a few moments, feeling unable to move, and Snape raised an eyebrow, apparently surprised by something. Then, as Lockhart claimed that a potion of some sort had been responsible for Mrs Norris' condition, Dumbledore straightened up, announcing that she was still alive. Filch threw himself over the table, cradling the cat to his chest in relief. Dumbledore turned to Harry.

"Now Harry. Start from the beginning if you please. How did you come to be in that particular corridor; you were supposed to be at the feast."

"Nearly Headless N – sorry sir, Sir Nicholas – he invited me to his Deathday party. I left early and when I got to the staircase I – I heard something coming from the second floor. I don't remember anything after that until I woke up."

At this, Snape stepped forward, focussing his gaze on Harry once more.

"Where were you when you heard this noise?"

"I was on the stairs sir, at the bottom."

Snape sneered.

"You expect us to believe that you heard something from the second floor from the ground floor? A likely story. What aren't you telling us Potter?"

"I swear sir, that's all I remember!"

"All you're willing to admit to you mean – "

"Severus. That is enough. I do not believe that Harry had anything to do with this. That said Harry, I do find it worrisome that you do not remember how you came to be unconscious."

Dumbledore tapped his wand against his hand in a nervous gesture.

"Do you know what Legilimency is Harry?" Dumbledore asked. Harry shook his head in response, so Dumbledore continued. "It is a magical art that will allow me, basically, to read your mind. If you are agreeable of course."

Harry swallowed. He didn't like the idea of anyone reading his mind at all. But refusing would hardly be a good idea under the circumstances. His mind made up, he nodded.

"Excellent. _Legilimens!"_

Harry's head began to swim, hazy images of the party flashing before his eyes. A memory of him setting foot on the stairs – and then his head began to pound once more, and he staggered back, the spell breaking. Dumbledore frowned once more.

"What happened Harry?"

"I – I don't know. My head hurts…"

Dumbledore stepped forward, looking into Harry's eyes again, and Harry winced in pain once more. The headmaster stepped back, an annoyed expression on his face.

"There is a powerful memory charm on you Harry. I got too close, which is what caused you pain. I've never seen one so powerful I have to admit. It's presumably covering what you saw…"

"Can you break it sir?"

"I'm afraid not; it's too closely woven into your mind. Any attempt I made would do more harm than good. You'll only get that memory back when whoever cast the spell is dead Harry."

McGonagall, who had been watching the scene in confusion, picked this moment to come forward.

"Albus… Never mind the memory, what about the message? Is the Chamber truly open?"

"I do not see how it can be Minerva. I'm fairly sure I would know if the Heir of Slytherin really were at the school."

Dumbledore stood still, his eyes now back on Mrs Norris. Then he turned to Harry once more.

"I think it's time you went to bed Harry. Tell no-one of what has been discussed here, do you understand?"

Harry nodded, before leaving the room hastily. Snape watched him go.

"I tried Legilimency on him myself Headmaster. I was unable to penetrate his mind. Have you been training him?"

Dumbledore shook his head, his eyes flashing with interest.

"A natural Occlumens then?"

"Not that I have noticed Severus. I was able to view those memories that hadn't been blocked easily."

"So how was he able to withstand my attempt?"

"I have no idea Severus, no idea at all. Forgive me if I am slightly more concerned with Mrs Norris at the moment."

* * *

Harry sat on a desk in a classroom, hurriedly telling Hermione, Neville and Draco what had happened. The three of them looked thoroughly scared by the time he had finished, but Hermione still asked the question:

"What does it mean, the Chamber?"

Harry and Neville shrugged, but Draco looked thoughtful.

"I think I remember my dad saying something once… Something to do with Slytherin I think."

Harry nodded.

"That's what Dumbledore said when McGonagall asked him about it. Hermione, where's Ron?"

"He had another slug attack didn't he Neville?"

"He certainly didn't want to come out of the bathroom, I know that. What about this voice you heard… You said Dumbledore read your mind – did he recognise it?"

"He didn't get that far; the charm started to throw him out. I'll go and tell him about it tomorrow."

The four of them sat in nervous silence for a few more moments, before leaving for their respective common rooms.

* * *

Harry did not sleep well that night. His head simply hurt too much, and he felt restless, energised, as he only felt when he was using magic. Something made him think that his magic was trying to tear apart the charm on his mind. While he was ok with that in principle, the way it made him feel left him wishing fervently to be a squib.

His nervousness was not helped in any way at all by Ron; the redhead had been most distressed to hear about the threat, and would not stop apologising to Harry for not having been there, despite Harry's protestations that there was nothing he could have done. Furthermore, he was thinking about the mysterious 'Chamber' that the message on the wall had mentioned. What chamber? Could it have anything to do with the events of last year? He had definitely been in a chamber of some description when he faced Quirrell… But he had felt more that the stone had just been hidden in a abandoned part of the castle, not that the location was a secret in and of itself.

He finally fell asleep an hour or so before dawn, but only managed a few hours before he was awake once more. He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, until the others started to wake up, when he hurried to the shower. He had been thinking about the way the students had looked last night – would they still be staring at him today? His descent to the common room cheered him up. Colin Creevey was waving at him frantically, but long practice allowed him to ignore him easily. Other than that, everything was normal. People greeted him pleasantly enough, and didn't seem scared of him at all. Perhaps he had only imagined it last night.

Once he arrived in the Great Hall, this illusion was rapidly dispelled.

He was used to being the focus of attention; his status as the Boy-Who-Lived guaranteed it. That was annoying enough, but at least it had been largely admiring before. Now though, people were looking at him in fear and anger. He sat down in silence, doing his best to ignore the stares and whispers. Hermione began to chatter about something, but he ignored her, and it was painfully obvious that her cheerful countenance was forced. She eventually fell silent. After a few moments, she stood up, announcing her intention to go and look up the Chamber in Hogwarts: A History before lessons started. Ron, Neville and Harry sat there in silence, finishing their breakfast in a hurry, before heading off to Defence Against the Dark Arts. Lockhart was in his usual cheerful mood; indeed, seemed to be blissfully ignorant of all that had occurred the previous evening. However, at the end of the lesson he kept Harry behind for a moment, informing him that he believed Harry when he said he had nothing to do with the attack, and that it was most likely the work of someone jealous of his fame.

History of Magic was much more interesting.

* * *

The lesson got off to a bad start. The Hufflepuff students now avoided Harry completely, and Zacharias Smith was the only one who didn't look at Harry as if he were scum. Then of course, they had to put up with another dreary lesson, this time concerning the creation of the Ministry. After his bad nights sleep, Harry was even closer to dropping off during the lesson than ever before, and not even the nasty looks he was receiving periodically from the Hufflepuff students could keep him awake. And then Hermione raised her hand.

Binns stopped speaking, a look of shock on his ghostly face. Harry suspected that this was the first time anyone had shown an interest in his lesson since he had died, and possibly even before that. There were a few moments of silence while he tried to remember Hermione's name, and then Hermione just asked her question:

"Sir, I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Miss… Grove, I am a professor of history. I deal in fact, not in ridiculous legend."

"Wouldn't you say though that all legend has a basis in fact sir?"

Binns opened his mouth to reply, but then paused, apparently having noticed the intense interest on everyone's faces. Again, Harry was fairly sure it was something that the professor had never seen before. Binns closed his mouth again, before apparently reconsidering his words.

"That is, perhaps, a fair point. But the legend of which you speak is a particularly unrealistic, not to say unpleasant one… Nevertheless… The Chamber of Secrets then.

As you know, Hogwarts school was established by the Four Founders, Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff. As you should also be aware, the four fell out, over Slytherin's well publicised views on Muggles and Muggleborn witches and wizards, and Slytherin left the school. Before he left however, Slytherin has been said to have constructed a Chamber in the school, a so-called Chamber of Secrets. In this chamber is believed to be a monster, which only those of Slytherin's bloodline can command, and it is said that this heir will use the monster to 'cleanse' the school of all Muggleborns. There is of course absolutely no reliable evidence to back this legend up, and numerous people, including Professor Dumbledore himself, have searched for the Chamber and found nothing."

Seamus Finnegan raised a hand.

"But you said you'd need to be related to Slytherin to open it, so maybe Dumbledore wouldn't even be able to find it. And you'd probably need to use dark magic to get in, and Dumbledore wouldn't do that either."

"On the contrary young man, Professor Dumbledore uses dark magic quite often. Most offensive magic is dark in origin, and he could hardly have beaten Grindelwald without resorting to offensive magic, wouldn't you say?"

Most of the class stared at Binns in horror, although Harry grinned slightly. It was good to see peoples perceptions of magic shaken up; perhaps this would lose Lockhart a few of his followers. On the other side of the room, Ernie Macmillan looked over at Harry, a sly look on his face.

"Professor? How many people are there who are descended from Slytherin?"

"I have absolutely no idea, and neither does anyone else."

"So how would you recognise someone as being related to Slytherin?"

"I suppose that a Parselmouth would be a likely candidate… Other than that, there is no hard and fast rule."

Harry was fairly sure he didn't even flinch. Fairly sure. Certainly, those stares that were already more hostile than he would like got no worse. He couldn't be descended from Slytherin could he? No, he couldn't; he wasn't the Heir, he remembered enough of the previous evening to be sure of that, and he had no living magical family. Harry dragged himself back to the present as Binns began to shout at the students, insisting that they returned to the lesson plan. At least Harry had something to keep him awake now.

* * *

A/N: Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated. 


	11. The Duelling Club

A/N: An early update for you, since I probably won't have time or an internet connection for a few days. Enjoy!

**Chapter 9: The Duelling Club**

The week and a half since the attack on Mrs Norris was uneventful as far as the school as a whole was concerned. Whoever the Heir of Slytherin was, they were keeping quiet. This had led to several areas of speculation. Some people seemed to think that the fact there had been no follow-up attack meant that Halloween had simply been a joke, albeit one in poor taste. Others believed that since Dumbledore had been alerted so soon, the Heir was simply too scared to carry on. Still others – and this was, sadly, the most popular theory as far as Harry could see – thought that since Harry had been under such intense scrutiny since Halloween that he had been unable to sneak away to unleash the monster, whatever it was.

Harry was treated with suspicion wherever he went by the majority of the school though. Few people had actually said anything to him directly, choosing instead to glare at him and pass comment behind his back, just loud enough for him to hear, as if that would cause him to give himself away. It was true, for the first couple of days Harry had found this behaviour intensely annoying, but then he had begun to find it amusing. Those few who had said anything had been unable to back up their claims with anything other than wild speculation when he responded, and now no-one seemed to want to try it again.

Of course, the belief that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin had probably been helped along by Fred and George's attempts to make light of the situation; amusing as Harry found them 'escorting' him to hypothetical meetings in the Chamber, he had to admit that it didn't make him look very good.

Harry himself believed that the Heir was merely keeping quiet for awhile, trying to avoid suspicion until the fuss had died down somewhat. This was largely due to his second experience with the voice he had heard on Halloween.

Walking back from a potions class the day after Halloween, when Snape had been uncharacteristically quiet, and had spent the lesson staring at Harry intently, Harry had been walking along in silence with his friends when he had heard the voice again. He hadn't been able to make out what it was saying – it seemed to be coming from a distance, and he could only hear the echo – but the sound of the voice was unmistakeable. This was worrying in itself, but what was worse was the fact that the other three Gryffindors were unable to hear it. Therefore, on their advice, Harry had restrained his impulse to go to Dumbledore and tell him about the voice he had heard – as Ron said, hearing voices was a bad thing, even in the Wizarding world.

At this particular point, Harry was sat by the Lake, watching the squid play with some mer-people. He was reading a letter from Remus, which had arrived at breakfast that morning.

_Dear Harry, _

_No luck with anything about the Chamber of Secrets I'm afraid. Peter had never heard of it, and Sirius refused to talk about it; all I could get out of him was that his parents had spoken of it being opened once, and spoken of it with great joy – therefore not something he cares to remember. I know that might seem selfish Harry, given your current situation, but try and understand how he feels. _

_There wasn't anything useful in any of the books I consulted either. The Chamber is just a footnote in Hogwarts: A History, and even most books about magical legends barely give it more than a footnote, and nothing you don't already know. I'm sorry I can't be if more use; I know what it's like to be treated with suspicion and dislike Harry. But don't despair, it'll work out for the best in the end. Just carry on being the boy we all know and love and it'll soon blow over, nobody could believe that you're setting a monster on people for long, I'm sure of it. _

_On a happier topic, how's your conjuring going? I still say that it's astonishing that you've taken to it with such ease. And I'm glad Quidditch is going well; it was a positive delight to picture Draco's face after you beat him._

_Let me know if you find out anything more, and good luck. And Harry? Do try and stay cheerful. You've got some great friends at Hogwarts, and never mind about those stupid enough to believe the worst of you._

_With love,_

_Remus_

Harry had a rare smile on his face as he finished reading the letter. Even when he didn't have anything important to say, Remus always managed to cheer him up.

* * *

When Harry returned to the common room, many of the Gryffindors were clustered around the notice board, in a state of great excitement. Harry wandered over, and stood by Ron, who looked conflicted about something.

"What's going on?"

"There's going to be a duelling club – but it's going to be run by Lockhart."

Harry winced. He had a suspicion that would be a recipe for disaster. On the other hand, it was better than nothing. He'd been begging the Marauders to let him train with them for ages, but they'd always insisted that they would only start during his fourth year at the very earliest. He loved watching them mock-duel each other, especially when they abandoned the rules of formal duelling and simply fought. Remus had a fondness for double casting, sending a non-verbal spell at his opponent immediately after a more obvious spell, which could often catch those who didn't know his tactic unawares. Peter went for spells that would simply break straight through a shield and cause significant damage, while Sirius tended to just wade in with a deceptively simplistic style; he would often fool Remus and Peter into thinking him an easy challenge before revealing he'd spun an elaborate trap with time-delayed spells. The chance to duel for himself, even if it was against someone like Lockhart, was not to be missed.

* * *

As Harry walked down to breakfast with his friends the next day, there was more bad news. Walking through the main doors, Hagrid had a grim expression on his face, and several dead roosters in his hand. The friends stopped to say hello to him, but clearly all was not well. Harry looked at the roosters quickly. They were covered in blood.

"I'm guessing those aren't for us to eat then Hagrid?"

"No they ruddy well aren't! Someone's bin killin' em, woke up this morning and there was corpses everywhere. Dunno who it was or how they didn' wake me up – but there was another of them messages. You know, like the one left with Mrs Norris."

"What? What did it say Hagrid?"

"Summat about him still being around, that he hadn't gone away. Loada codswallop if you ask me; I know that the Heir o' Slytherin ain't around here."

Hermione looked at him strangely.

"How do you know that Hagrid?"

The enormous man flushed deeply, before hastily saying his goodbyes. Ron and Neville attempted to set off for breakfast once more, but Harry set off at a run towards Hagrid's hut, and they all followed him.

It was a misty morning, giving the grounds an eerie quality. Harry shivered as he approached the chicken pen by Hagrid's hut; he was not dressed for the cold. He froze as the mist parted, and Hermione shrieked as she saw what had happened.

There were feathers everywhere. Someone had walked into the pen and fired off curses left, right and centre. There wasn't a single bird left alive, and the fence was covered in blood. One chicken had been cut completely in half, and several had had their heads caved in somehow. On the far fence was another message, blazing brightly in the dim morning light:

_**Did you think me gone? The Heir of Slytherin shall not be beaten, cannot be beaten. The preparations have been completed; the cleansing shall be swift and merciless. I will never die, I will never leave, and the Mudbloods will curse the day they ever heard of me.**_

Hermione stared at it, open-mouthed, until Ron and Neville forcibly moved her away. Harry stood there a few moments longer, his anger at the senseless slaughter giving him a new warmth. Then he turned away, and strode back to the castle with his friends.

* * *

By lunch, the news had spread over the entire castle. The stares had been renewed, more hostile than before. The fact that Harry had never uttered the work 'Mudblood' in his life, and had spent most of his childhood in the Muggle world did not appear to be something worth noting to most of the students. By the end of the day, the other houses, if they weren't actually his friends, seemed to be totally united in their belief that he was the Heir of Slytherin. Harry had another restless nights sleep, and woke up at dawn more irritable than he had been before he went to bed.

The incident at breakfast only made things worse.

He received some post. He had been expecting some – he had sent Hedwig away with a letter for Remus the previous day – but the anticipated reply did not arrive. Instead, a school owl landed in front of him, bearing a package. Harry opened it carefully, and nearly threw it away in disgust. Someone had sent him a rubber chicken, and a note, saying "If you were hungry, you should have gone to the kitchens". He would have taken it to Dumbledore, but all of a sudden, the box and the note caught fire, and the air was filled with the stench of burning rubber. Startled by his loss of control, Harry swiftly left the Hall, acutely conscious of the eyes on his back.

There were more whispers throughout the day, always from groups, so that Harry couldn't retaliate without dragging his friends into the fight, something he was reluctant to do. As a result, he was in a foul mood by the end of the day, and was tempted to give the duelling club a miss. However, Ron 'persuaded' him to go – meaning that he practically dragged him there.

The Great Hall had been set up for a formal duel, with a large platform in place of the staff table and several much smaller platforms scattered around the hall. Lockhart was standing on the larger one, a dazzling smile on his face, and dressed in finely tailored duelling armour, which seemed to be designed more to show off his figure than actually protect him. They all stood in a small group, carefully ignoring the people staring at Harry, and talked amongst themselves – although Hermione did occasionally stop to stare at Lockhart, as did most of the girls in the hall. After a few moments, Lockhart was joined by Snape, still in his everyday black robes. That caused Harry a moment's amusement. Snape clearly felt that he was in no danger from Lockhart, who he would presumably be duelling against in demonstration.

As Harry looked at the two teachers, he felt something poke him in the back. He turned round, and was greeted with the unpleasant sight of Theodore Nott, sneering at him contemptuously. Over Nott's shoulder, Harry could see Draco heading towards them, followed by Crabbe and Goyle, an angry expression on his face. Then Nott spoke.

"So, Potter. The Heir of Slytherin. Doesn't really seem to go with being the Boy-Who-Lived very well does it? Still, it's an achievement, something you can truly call your own. I mean, it isn't as if you've got much else to be proud of have you? And old-fashioned and prejudiced as Muggle hatred is, at least it's something to say about yourself, other than 'I've got a weird scar'. Your parents would be so proud of you."

Harry's eyes darkened, and he started to raise his wand to retaliate, but Snape, apparently sensing trouble, appeared at his side and looked at them both intently. Nott smirked and walked off; unusually, Snape did nothing else, and just walked off. Harry stood there, anger boiling, ignoring Neville's attempts to calm him down.

Up on stage, Lockhart was waffling on about Disarming an opponent, and showing them an incredibly complex wand movement that seemed to bear no resemblance to the diagrams Harry had seen in his textbooks. Sure enough, when Lockhart attempted to disarm Snape, he not only failed to disarm him, he actually dropped his wand, which raised a few chuckles around the room. Then he called for a volunteer from the student body. There was utter silence. Lockhart scanned the room quickly, and his eyes lit up as he saw Harry.

"Ah, Harry, just the lad I was looking for. Step up here if you would."

"Me sir?"

"Yes of course Harry, don't be scared – you'll come to no harm on my watch I assure you!"

Harry stood still for a second, and then someone began to imitate a chicken. His eyes narrowed, and he walked quickly up onto the stage. Lockhart took him through the wand action for a Shield spell (which Harry already knew how to cast) and then they both took their places at either end of the platform. Lockhart gave an elaborate bow, while Harry bent forward very slightly. Then Lockhart cast a spell. Harry's wand snapped up, and he barked out the incantation. A wall of magic formed in front of him, rippling in the air as Lockhart's spell flew towards him. It rebounded straight back by fortunate chance, hitting Lockhart in the chest and sending him staggering back. Lockhart wheezed for a bit as he regained his breath, before beginning to explain about the sometimes erratic rebound when the shield charm was used. Harry didn't pay much attention; he was more interested in Snape, who was looking at him with something that could, in a dim light and if you squinted, be called an attempt at a small smile.

Then Lockhart told Harry to try and disarm him.

Harry smiled slightly, and resumed his position. Lockhart assumed his elaborate en guarde position, and gestured for Harry to begin. Harry quickly moved his wand through the movement for a Disarm, crying out the incantation as he did so. The spell, given extra power by the anger Harry was keeping hidden, slammed straight through Lockhart's admittedly poor attempt at a shield charm and sent the professor flying. He landed in a heap several feet from where he had been standing, his hair mussed and a tear in his armour. Harry grinned as his friends cheered (although Hermione was a little less enthusiastic than the others). There was a ripple of laughter through the rest of the audience as well; clearly, Harry was not the only one to dislike Lockhart. The professor staggered to his feet.

"Well, that was very good Harry, you're clearly not bad at this kind of thing… You did rather telegraph your movement though; it would be obvious to anyone what you were about to do, and of course, most opponents wouldn't be letting you get past their shield as I was. Why don't you try again?"

Harry's eyes darkened once more. How dare that fraud try and pretend he had _let_ Harry beat him so easily! Resuming his en guard position, he snapped off another spell, muttering the incantation rather than shouting it this time. Again, it tore through Lockhart's shield, and hit the professor in the chest… But instead of knocking him flat on his back, Lockhart began to shimmer. Then there was a quiet pop, and Lockhart vanished.

Harry had turned him into a bird. Specifically, a peacock.

There was an uproar from the crowd. Even accepting that Lockhart was useless, there was no way Harry should have been able to do that! Even his friends were staring at him in shock. Snape was the only one who seemed unperturbed; he walked over to the cooing peacock and pointed his wand at it. Nothing happened. He tried again. The peacock spread its tailfeathers. Harry, watching carefully, saw Snape's lips twitch minutely as he conjured a cage around the bird. Picking it up, the Potions Master turned to the students, dismissing them carelessly.

Harry stood there, frozen, unable to believe his own eyes. The spell had not been supposed to do that! He had lost control of his magic once again, and it would seem as if Lockhart was going to be stuck like that for awhile. As the reality began to sink in, he started to snigger quietly to himself.

* * *

Snape wandered into the staffroom at a leisurely pace, a small smirk on his face. Walking over to his habitual seat, he sat back, his legs crossed, and allowed the smirk to broaden into a full fledged smile. McGonagall looked at him curiously.

"You're back early Severus. I thought the duelling club was running until 8, and I certainly didn't expect to see you looking so happy."

"I wasn't either Minerva, but there were some… compensations, shall we say?"

"And those were?"

"Another chance to see Potter demonstrate his power first hand." Snape said this a little louder than he had been speaking previously, drawing attention from all over the staffroom.

"Potter was called up to demonstrate the Shield and Disarming spells against Lockhart. I have no doubt he already knows them, but of course Lockhart would want to make himself look good by associating with the Boy-Who-Lived… Anyway, Lockhart didn't even manage to make Potter's shield quiver, and when Potter attacked Lockhart, well, it was really rather amusing."

"What happened? Is Lockhart ok?"

"Well – first, Potter sent Lockhart flying flat on his back. He can put a fair amount of power behind his spells; I suspect with a little training he'd give you a run for your money in the duelling stakes Filius. Then came the true masterpiece. Lockhart told him to go again… So Potter turned him into a peacock."

There was a stunned silence, then the staffroom rang with laughter. McGonagall wiped away tears of laughter, attempting to resume her serious countenance once more, and asked Snape

"Where do you think he learnt to do that?"

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"I assumed you had taught him Minerva. I know you were giving him extra lessons last year."

"Yes, but nothing that complex Severus. It's incredibly tricky magic – if he didn't manage it correctly Gilderoy may never totally recover."

"Which would be a great loss… Poppy assures me that he will make a full recovery, mores the pity. Her exact words, I do hope he couldn't understand her. But amusement aside, it does worry me that the boy is so powerful. Merlin only knows what would happen if his magic truly ran wild, it was worryingly close to happening today; I could feel his magic again. I think someone had been making him angry."

"Well, lets hope we never find out."

"I somehow doubt we will be that lucky Minerva. Potter seems to attract trouble. This Heir of Slytherin business for example. Does anyone really believe it's him? I don't much like him, but he doesn't seem the type."

McGonagall shrugged, a bitter expression on her face.

"Harry is unusual, so he gets the blame for everything. I'm sure you remember that kind of behaviour Severus."

"Oh yes indeed Minerva; how could I forget?"

_And let us hope that Potter doesn't become as unpleasant as I did in the face of such provocation._

_

* * *

_

A/N Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.


	12. Conspiracy Theories

**Chapter 10: Conspiracy Theories**

Harry took a deep breath, then quickly flicked his wand up into the air, smoothly moving it through the required movements for the spell and shouting _"Avis!"_ As expected, a small bird flew out of the end of his wand, and fluttered up to the ceiling. This was what he had intended to happen when he had duelled Lockhart; to show him what he was capable of, that flattening the professor hadn't been a fluke. But he'd mixed up the incantation, using a Transfiguration spell rather than a conjuring spell. Of course, the fact remained that he still shouldn't have been able to completely change Lockhart into a bird, but he was trying to pretend that hadn't happened. Lockhart had been stuck as a peacock for an entire day – although Harry was a little sceptical about how much of that was to do with his personal power and how much was to do with the staff not wanting to change him back.

Harry was slightly unnerved by his ability to conjure things. In the weeks since the duelling club (cancelled till further notice), he had tried various spells. In addition to snakes and birds, he had managed small items of food, a quill, and had managed about a quarter of a desk, although he had nearly passed out after attempting that. True, he had only managed to conjure a single grape, and the quill had crumbled the moment he touched it, but even so, he seemed to be remarkably proficient at it. He had a sneaking suspicion that he had discovered his affinity – the area of magic that he had the most natural ability in – several years earlier than most wizards and witches. This was not entirely cheering; it would be another source of comment for the gossips in the school, and he was attracting far too much attention at the moment as it was.

Harry scowled as he thought about Lockhart. There was no real way that the showboating professor could spin being turned into a bird by a 12-year old into good publicity, and he had been much cooler towards Harry than previously, which was presumably meant to hugely upset him and get him to apologise. Harry was quite enjoying being ignored in lessons now, doing his own reading rather than pay attention to Lockhart.

It would be even better if the rest of the school was ignoring him. True, the admiration he received for so thoroughly besting Lockhart was better than people thinking he was a bigoted psycho, but Harry didn't want the attention – and it was even more annoying given that only minutes before he had duelled Lockhart people had been avoiding him in fear. Would a little consistency be too much to ask for?

Still, it would be Christmas soon. A break from work, stupid professors and mysterious people attacking the local wildlife.

* * *

Harry flopped backwards onto his bed at Privet Drive, leaving his trunk in the corner. He had been back an hour, and already Aunt Petunia was annoyed. This didn't happen often to be fair to her; by and large she was a very even-tempered woman. And it wasn't because of anything Harry had done, which was a bonus. But she had not been pleased to hear about the Heir of Slytherin. She was particularly angry at Dumbledore apparently. She seemed to think that he wasn't doing enough to ensure the students safety: "Dark Wizards, three-headed dogs, dangerously incompetent staff, and now a prejudiced weirdo with a legendary monster to command. What's going to happen next year? It's a miracle no-ones been killed yet Harry, you mark my words."

Harry had to admit, he had no convincing counter argument.

And as for her reaction when she learnt that most people seemed to think that _he _was the Heir… Harry winced at the memory, but she had once more made some good points. Harry was a halfblood who had grown up in the Muggle world – and had grown up perfectly happily, with a loving family – and counted one Muggleborn witch as one of his best friends. He had never shown any kind of prejudice at all, let alone against Muggleborns. Given that, and his reputation, he would have thought that people would give him the benefit of the doubt. As he pondered this, the doorbell rang. Harry ignored it for a moment, but then he heard Remus' voice, and he ran down the stairs.

Remus stumbled as Harry hugged him, apparently not totally recovered from the full moon. Petunia smiled fondly, and disappeared back to her newspaper. Remus and Harry, in turn, took up position in the dining room; the Marauder had a sly grin on his face.

"So young Harry. There's a rumour that you might be rather good at conjuring. Would this be an accurate rumour?"

"Why Moony, wherever did you hear that?"

"Oh, I have my sources Harry…" Remus' eyes were gleaming almost as much as Dumbledore's; he was clearly in a playful mood, and it was at moments like this that Harry could believe that he had been one of the legendary pranksters of Hogwarts. "I also have a friend with a warded room. It'll block the Trace on you, so you can give me a little demonstration if you'd like?"

Harry smiled.

* * *

An hour later, and Harry and Remus were standing in the basement of a house just outside York. Harry suspected that Remus' friend was an un-registered werewolf; there were a few knocking around, and they generally had somewhere heavily warded to hide the massive outburst of magic that accompanied a transformation to keep the wizard or witch alive. Whoever he was, he had a healthy sense of discretion – either that or Remus just knew where the spare key was and hadn't bothered to tell his friend he was coming round.

The basement was incredibly dingy, and Harry could barely see his hand in front of his face. Remus conjured some light so that he could see what Harry was doing, and then beckoned Harry to begin. Harry began to work up from the simpler items, creating a bunch of grapes out of thin air. Remus looked mildly impressed by this, but this gradually changed to outright incredulity as Harry went on. Quills, parchment, a plate and knife and fork – it was true that they all eventually faded away, but it was still a major achievement. And then Harry conjured a snake.

In truth, Remus had not known what to expect when he had given Harry this spell. He had doubted that Harry's classmates could manage it, but Harry had the advantage of a great deal of power – he could just force a spell to work if he tried hard enough. In addition, Remus had read a rumour that Parselmouths had an advantage with snake based magic. Whatever Harry's conjuring abilities in general, he might have been able to conjure a snake regardless. But Harry was standing there, casually creating living creatures on a whim. Again, they all faded away eventually, but at one point Remus would have sworn that there were about a dozen snakes slithering around the basement. However you looked at it, that was incredible. He realised that Harry had stopped, and looked up at him. His ward had a nervous expression on his face, clearly seeking approval. And Remus was more than willing to give it to him.

"Harry that – that was just astonishing. How the hell can you do that?"

"I'm not sure. It seems to come fairly easily though. I was wondering if… if it might be my affinity?"

Remus fell silent, pondering this. It wasn't unheard of for someone to discover their affinity during their childhood – Dumbledore for instance, and Remus himself had discovered that he had a gift with magical creatures during his time at Hogwarts – but it was fairly rare. And given Harry's reputation it would be bound to cause comment, particularly as it was such a clearly light based affinity. It would be more fuel to the fire that the Light zealots sought to ignite under the dark culture if it was made public knowledge.

"I don't think we can rule it out. But you're good at lots of things Harry, don't jump to conclusions. Give it a few years at least. Even if this is your affinity, there are…political reasons for keeping it quiet."

Harry nodded, showing his understanding. Then he grinned nervously.

"Is it really that good Moony?"

"Harry, it is the single most impressive act of magic I have seen in the last decade, taking everything into account. You should be proud."

Harry practically glowed.

* * *

There had been no snow over Christmas, but by the time term started once more, it was falling heavily, and the carriages back up to the castle were extremely cold, and extremely slow. The Thestrals didn't seem to like the cold anymore than their passengers. Harry could hear them snorting heavily, a deeply disquieting noise. The start of term feast was surprisingly pleasant, as few people were staring at him. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about the Heir of Slytherin business, or at least put it to the back of their minds.

Of course, by breakfast the following day people had seen the message on the wall on the second floor, which no-one had managed to remove yet, and had seen Filch, still wearing his black arm-band, and had been reminded of the unknown attacker stalking the school. However, all in all, the first few days of term passed fairly pleasantly.

However, one evening Harry was alone in the library, finishing up some charms homework. He was replacing some books on the shelf when he heard someone say his name. Frowning, he walked to the end of the aisle, listening intently. There was a small group of Hufflepuff students sitting round a table. He recognised Ernie Macmillan, and the girl he had bumped into shortly after his last encounter with Zacharias Smith. They were talking animatedly, yet in hushed tones, to several other students, who Harry vaguely recognised as being first to third years, all in Hufflepuff robes. As he watched through a gap in the books, Ernie slammed his hands onto the table.

"I'm telling you, it must be Potter! It couldn't be anyone else!"

"And precisely what evidence for this have you got Macmillan? You won't tell us, so why should we believe you?" said a boy – a third year – who Harry didn't know.

The girl he had bumped into cut in.

"At the beginning of the year he was talking to Justin – you know Justin, in my year. They got talking about Lockhart, and Justin said that Harry could be just like him if he tried hard or something. And he swears blind that Potter's eyes turned red when he said that. You must admit that's suspicious."

The third year boy still looked sceptical, but some of the others looked more uneasy now.

"And Dumbledore said only someone of great power could have Petrified Mrs Norris like that. Well, no-one really knows what happened the night You-Know-Who was destroyed, but Potter must be powerful to have survived it. I heard a rumour from my aunt that he didn't just beat Quirrell, he destroyed him. Burnt him alive. And what he did to Lockhart… Potter is not _normal_. And he's always fighting with that Theodore Nott, so he's clearly got a violent streak in him."

"Ok Susan. I'll admit that there are some things about Potter that are a bit dodgy, but you don't have any real evidence that he's the Heir. He was passed out by Filch's cat, like he'd been attacked."

"Magical exhaustion. He didn't have a scratch on him did he, so he can't have been attacked. Filch tried to put him in detention a few days before his cat was attacked. Hagrid upset him when he told everyone in Hogsmeade about what happened in the Forbidden Forest. He's got motive for both of the attacks so far."

"Actually, Hagrid's one of my closest friends."

The students around the table fell silent as Harry stepped out of the dark aisle, a coldly furious look on his face. He walked straight up to Ernie and the girl, Susan, and stared at them intently.

"I am not the Heir of Slytherin. I don't know why I didn't have any injuries at Halloween, but I assure you, I was attacked. I can remember that much. I would greatly appreciate it if you would stop spreading lies about me."

"Or what, you'll set your pet on us?" said Ernie, attempting to appear unafraid, and failing miserably.

"Or I'll show you that I don't need a monster to express my displeasure with people."

And with that, Harry turned on his heel and left the library. He headed straight to a classroom that he knew was filled with furniture that had aged or been damaged even beyond the ability of magic to repair, locking the door behind him. He took a deep breath, and then flung a blasting curse at one of the broken chairs, shattering it into several pieces with a crack. Peter had recommended the technique over Christmas, telling him to focus on using his magic when he was angry rather than let it build up; this way he at least had some control over what would happen, rather than allow anything random to happen. And destroying something was always a good way of calming down. Another broken chair, and Harry was able to think about what had been said without wanting to go back and curse them.

It wasn't so much that he was surprised. He had known that people suspected him, and in his calmer, more rational moments, he did have to acknowledge that there was a fair bit of evidence that made him the most likely suspect. Of course, and this sounded like someone whispering in his ear, there was a far greater amount of evidence that suggested he was one of the least likely candidates. Merlin take Justin anyway. Why did he have to tell people about his eyes? Ron had been right, who gave a damn what anyone thought about him? His friends trusted him, that was all that mattered.

There was a noise, and a shout, cut off almost immediately.

Harry walked out of the room slowly, wand raised. The noise was coming from the adjoining corridor, and he walked towards it carefully. As he approached, his scar began to burn, and he gasped in pain. Then he heard the voice again.

"_I must feed, I am hungry!"_

"_Someone is coming. Be silent! You have plenty of food – and I want this one found…"_

There was a dreadful noise, something sliding over the smooth stone, and the sound of running feet. The pain in his scar lessened, and Harry ran round the corner and groaned.

Justin Finch-Fletchly was lying on the floor, a look of horror on his face. He had been Petrified. Floating next to him was Nearly Headless Nick, who had somehow been Petrified as well. There were scorch marks around their bodies. Harry stared at his prone classmate, and then his gaze shifted to the wall above him, and the blazing message carved into it: _**It begins.**_

And then McGonagall arrived, talking to Ernie Macmillan and the girl named Susan.

"Miss Bones, I find it highly unlikely that Mr Potter was not provoked; I have seen the way some of you have been watching him – Oh my goodness!"

Harry looked at her, a resigned expression falling across his face.

"Professor, I had nothing to do with this, I just found them –"

"Caught in the act!"

"That will do Macmillan." McGonagall stared at Justin, a look of something like despair on her face. "Miss Bones, will you and Macmillan take Mr Finch-Fletchly to the Hospital Wing? Potter, come with me."

"Professor, I –"

"Just come with me Potter."

Harry walked past the two Hufflepuffs with his eyes closed to avoid their accusing stares. He could feel their gaze on the small of his back all the way down the corridor. McGonagall said nothing to him all the way until they reached Dumbledore's office. She escorted him up the stairs, and then left him, with one last, sad look at him. Harry sat down, nervously anticipating what was going to happen. Dumbledore knew what had happened the last time, he wouldn't get the blame surely? Then he saw the Sorting Hat, perched over the Sword of Gryffindor behind Dumbledore's desk. An idea occurred to him, and he hurried over, placing the ragged hat on his head.

"_Something wrong Potter?"_

"_I was wondering… if you could tell me anything about the Heir of Slytherin?"_

"_Afraid not. I can tell it's not you though. The kind of magic the Heir would have to use to petrify someone like that leaves a distinctive trace, and there's no sign of it."_

"_I already knew it wasn't me thanks. But you don't know who it could be?"_

"_It could be anyone from a magical background. I'm sure you know that most people are related in some form, however distantly."_

"_But you can't see anyone's family background when you look inside their heads?"_

"_Memories sometimes. But I haven't seen anything relevant. Why don't you ask Dumbledore if you're so worried? You can trust him you know; I can see that there're a few things he'd like to know."_

Harry wrenched the Hat off his head. Dumbledore would probably be very supportive if he found out Harry was a Parselmouth. That didn't mean he was going to find out. Harry was quite happy keeping some secrets. As Peter had told him once, the more that know, the more that will. And if it got out to the school at the moment, he'd be facing physical assault within hours.

"Do be careful with that Harry. It's rather valuable."

Dumbledore walked into the office, a grave look on his face. He gestured for Harry to sit down, and sat down himself behind his desk, looking at Harry over steeped fingers. There was no twinkle in his eyes.

"Sir, I didn't do anything, I swear."

"Calm yourself Harry. I know perfectly well that you are not the Heir of Slytherin. You may not be aware Harry, but the Chamber has been opened before, fifty years or so ago. There were similar attacks on the school roosters, but only one attack on a student. She was not as fortunate as Mr Finch-Fletchly however. She was killed instantly."

"How?"

"By whatever the monster in the Chamber is. I would prefer not to go into the details Harry; it is bad enough that I have to remember her body without afflicting you with such an image."

Harry swallowed. All of a sudden he didn't want to know.

"Did you find the Heir professor?"

"A student was expelled for the crime, but I do not believe that he was the true culprit. I believed at the time, and still do, that he was framed."

"Why sir?"

Dumbledore stared at Harry for a long moment, before sighing deeply.

"Several reasons. The creature that the student was caught with was certainly dangerous, or would have been once fully grown, and should not have been in the school, but it had nothing to do with the girls death. Because I have a great deal of trust in the student who was expelled. Because the expelled student was 'caught in the act' by the boy who grew up to become Voldemort."

There was a long silence. A chill ran down Harry's spine, and he was intensely glad he was sitting down.

"But – but it can't be him now can it? And he didn't have any relatives did he?"

"You assume that the Heir is simply a blood heir Harry. It could be far more complex than that; a political heir, a magical heir, or simply someone with a similar intense hatred of Muggleborns. Sadly, that does not narrow the field as much as I would like."

"People already think it's me. Can't you say anything?"

"What would you have me say Harry? That the most likely candidate is a wizard who is probably dead? Or at the very least in absolutely no condition to unleash a monster on the school?"

"What do you mean probably?"

"I have long been aware that Voldemort took certain steps to ensure his survival. But I promise you Harry, he cannot come back, not of his own accord. And none of his surviving supporters – that are not imprisoned in Azkaban – are powerful enough to help him return."

"You told me last year that he was dead, you _told me_!"

"I told you that he was defeated, and that there was a crucial difference."

"But – but everyone else thinks he's dead."

"To all intents and purposes Harry, he is dead. He certainly doesn't have a body anymore."

Harry sat there, almost numb with shock. In all honesty, he had forgotten the ambiguous discussion they had had about Voldemort after Quirrell's death the previous year; it had never occurred to him that he would have to deal with something similar so soon, if ever.

"Harry?"

He looked up, meeting the headmaster's gaze once more.

"Was there anything you wanted to tell me?"

Harry stared at Albus Dumbledore, met his kindly gaze, and he froze. Thoughts ran through his head of crimson eyes, of strange voices, of his Parselmouth abilities, of his new found talent for conjuring. He thought of Voldemort, and he realized that he was scared. And he spoke.

"No. there's nothing sir."

A disappointed look flashed across Dumbledore's face, as if he knew that Harry was lying, and he waved Harry out of the office. Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor common room in a sombre mood, with a single word flashing through his mind.

_Coward._

* * *

Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated. 


	13. Doubtful Dreams of Dreams

A/N: The title of this chapter is taken from Algernon Swinburne's 'Garden of Proserpine'. And thanks to Hellinbrand for helping out with the conclusion of this chapter. Also, a quick request for those of you who do feel moved to review: what do you think of the Quidditch match here? Good? Bad? Average? The comments will directly affect how much Quidditch there is in future instalments, so I'd appreciate your feedback.

**Chapter 11: Doubtful Dreams of Dreams**

January turned to February, and Harry lay on his bed, feeling miserable. The news about Justin and Nick seemed to have covered the entire school by the time he left Dumbledore's office. The common room had fallen silent as he came through the portrait door, and he had gone straight up to bed. After breakfast the next morning, he had stopped going to the Great Hall, getting his friends to bring him food rather than run the gauntlet of whispers and accusatory stares whenever he saw someone.

Aside from his friends, there were a very few people seemed to believe that he wasn't the Heir, and that wasn't a testament to his character. It was more that they were largely Pureblood bigots who believed that as a halfblood he could not be the heir. And he couldn't tell anyone that he couldn't be the Heir, that it was Voldemort, because that would cause too much panic – if he was believed at all. And so he hid away in his room when he wasn't at class or at Quidditch practice. He wasn't sure whether the team believed him or not, but the twins did, and the other players wouldn't risk the team Beaters wrath.

This did nothing to assuage the constant whispering of _coward_ through his brain. And he really was being cowardly. He had even taken to going to classes in his invisibility cloak to avoid confrontations. It was even worse than in the aftermath of the attack on Mrs Norris; people were actually scared of him now, not just suspicious. He knew he should have told Dumbledore everything, that the Headmaster wouldn't judge him. He might even have been able to come to some amazing conclusion based on Harry's information.

Most of the students who greeted him with cold, angry stares were from Hufflepuff. It seemed that most of the second years already knew what Justin had told Ernie and Susan about Harry's 'abnormalities', and that, coupled with the argument in the library and Justin's Petrification, seemed to clinch it in the eyes of the rest of the house. As far as he knew, most of the Gryffindors were on his side, and the other two houses were mixed roughly equally. That still meant that more of the school believed him dangerous than not, which was a depressing thought. Then, with a groan, he remembered that the next Quidditch game was against Hufflepuff. That was going to be great fun, he was sure of it.

* * *

"Harry, you've got to come down!"

"Why should I Hermione? I'll just have people staring at me, saying I'm a psycho. Why should I put up with that?"

"Because hiding away isn't going to make it go away. It's just making people think you're guilty and scared. And if you don't face them how can you prove your innocence?"

"I shouldn't have to! Dumbledore could – "

"Dumbledore could what?"

"Never mind. It's stupid. Look, I know that people are just going to keep talking but… I just can't face them Hermione. I'm sorry."

"Coward."

Harry's eyes widened, and he turned to face Ginny. She had a strange expression on her face, a slight shadow of malice that he had never seen there before, and her eyes were in shadow. She looked quite scary.

"What did you call me?"

"A coward. You aren't who I thought you were Harry. I mean, last year you quite casually went to fight a Death Eater by yourself. And you won't even face some children? What happened to you? Or maybe you do feel guilty."

Harry clenched his fists in anger, and his own eyes darkened slightly.

"I am not a coward Ginny. I'm not."

"Prove it."

Harry stared at her a moment longer, then stood up.

"Anyone else coming?"

And he walked out of the common room. Hermione looked at Ginny, an appreciative grin on her face.

"Where did you learn to manipulate people like that?"

"I've got six brothers Hermione. I have to protect myself somehow you know."

Neville shook his head as he stood up to follow his friend.

"He's such a Gryffindor. He's been scared to face them for days, but the moment someone else says that he storms off to confront them."

* * *

Harry strode towards the Great Hall in a fog of anger. How dare she talk to him like that? What did she know about it? Well he'd show them. There came a panting behind him as Neville hurried after him, eventually drawing level without a word.

He had calmed down somewhat by the time they reached the hall, and was aware that Ginny had played him shamefully easily; he hadn't realised before that he was so proud. The fact remained that she had been right, so he carried on through the door. Most people were concentrating on their food, only a few people bothering to look up, and if Harry didn't exactly meet their eye, he rationalised it by them being scattered across the room. Besides, he was looking at Dumbledore. The headmaster had a faint smile of approval on his lips, which lifted Harry's spirits a great deal.

As Harry worked his way through a generous serving of steak and kidney pie he heard someone walk up behind him, and braced himself accordingly. He refused to turn around until they actually spoke to him though. It took them a few moments, but eventually someone said his name. Harry scowled slightly as he recognised Ernie Macmillan's voice.

"So, daring to show your face again Potter?"

Harry finished his pie before turning around, which seemed to annoy Macmillan a great deal.

"I was getting a little bored Ernie. All these rumours are rather funny you know."

"We both know they aren't rumours don't we Potter?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, doing his best to imitate Snape's glare. He wasn't sure how well he succeeded.

"Do we? I'm afraid I don't, perhaps you'd care to enlighten me."

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about Potter. You're a dark wizard, the Heir of Slytherin. You're a danger to the school."

"No I'm not. It's nothing to do with me Macmillan. What's your evidence?"

The Hufflepuff smiled. He'd been waiting for that opportunity.

"You don't like Filch, and he tried to put you in detention. You don't like Justin, and you argued. Hagrid started spreading rumours about you in the pub last year, which got you some unwanted attention. You were passed out by Mrs Norris, which could have been magical exhaustion."

Harry smirked slightly. He was beginning to wish he'd come down before. This really was actually quite funny.

"Truly brilliant. Totally wrong of course, but brilliant. I've already told you, Hagrid's one of my closest friends. If I wanted to hurt Filch I'd have done something to him personally, not to Mrs Norris. As for Justin, I barely knew him. I didn't agree with the opinions he expressed, but I don't count that as a reason for trying to kill him. And what about the fact that the Heir of Slytherin is supposed to want to kill Muggleborns? I'm a halfblood; my mother was muggleborn; I've been brought up in the muggle world by muggles who I'm very fond of; one of my best friends is a muggleborn. Explain to me precisely how I'm supposed to hate them then?"

"You've been found at both attacks Potter, that's all the evidence we need."

"Nice to see you can keep an open mind about these things. Go away Macmillan. I'm trying to eat."

And Harry dismissed his accuser from his attention, returning to his food. Macmillan stood there blustering for a few more minutes, but soon realized that short of actually hexing him there was no way that Harry was going to pay any attention him. Grimacing slightly he returned to his seat, and huddled with his friends, casting dark looks at Harry every so often. A low murmur gradually began to ripple around the hall as the other students gossiped about Harry's statement.

Harry smiled to himself.

* * *

Harry was in an unexpectedly good mood as he walked down to the pitch for the game. Lockhart had decided to give a morale booster to the school the previous day; this had taken the form of a celebration for Valentine's Day. Lessons had been worse than usual, the ostentatiously pink decorations proving a great distraction. However, by the end of the day, Harry had had more fun than he had had since Christmas. Sitting reading a book in the common room, he had been shocked to see Ginny approach, a card in her hand and a strange expression on her face. She had thrust the card at him before hurrying off before he could say anything. Harry tore the card open with a stunned expression; he would not have expected a Valentine from Ginny. All was explained when he saw the poem. He had flung it aside and spent an enjoyable hour or so chasing Ginny around to make her pay for the joke.

However, as he pulled on his Quidditch robes, Harry was unable to repress his anxiety completely. They would be playing Hufflepuff, and many of the Hufflepuff students remained unconvinced by his counter-arguments. He was expecting a dirty game. It didn't help that the weather was absolutely foul; he would have real difficulty seeing his broom, let alone the snitch.

There was a tense atmosphere as the two teams lined up to fly out to the pitch. Fred and George were kidding around – careful to leave out their jokes about the Heir of Slytherin in the presence of the Hufflepuffs. The only Hufflepuff who seemed to be at ease in Harry's presence was the captain, a student named Diggory who was the team seeker. Harry would have felt better if he had been one of the beaters; as it was, the Hufflepuff beaters were grinning in a decidedly unpleasant fashion. Harry rather suspected that he would be their only target, and resolved to keep an eye out.

Eventually the doors to the pitch opened, and after the captains shook hands, the two teams soared into the air. As he did so, Harry felt his biggest grin in days spread across his face. This was going to be fine he told himself. So the Hufflepuffs would likely be out to get him; so what, he was the seeker, that happened all the time. He felt for the first time that he could afford to ignore the widespread hostility, which lifted an enormous weight from his shoulders.

Hovering high above the pitch, he squinted, trying to see the balls as they were released. The quaffle was surprisingly easy to see, due to its colour and size. The snitch might as well not have been there. As for the bludgers… He couldn't see them, but he could see other players weaving, which allowed him to hazard a guess as to their location.

Ten minutes later, and he was soaked to the bone, and still had no sign of the snitch. He had been floating around the perimeter of the pitch, trying to stay out of everyone's way – and watching Diggory carefully – and all he had achieved was the beginnings of a cold. Suddenly the hairs on back of his neck began to bristle, something which had in the past indicated danger. He swiftly rolled round on his broom, and the air whistled above him as a bludger flew past at devastating speed. There was a cheer from the crowd, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he watched it fly away.

Then it halted in mid-air, before flying back the way it had come – back at him.

Harry flew straight up, swerving to avoid Katie, who was flying past at the same time. The bludger followed, and instead of breaking off to attack the nearer target as it should have done, it too swerved to follow Harry. Harry watched this in disbelief, and had to duck to avoid getting hit full in the face. He flew off again, followed by the bludger. He flew past one of the Hufflepuff beaters, who had the same unpleasant grin on his face; a nasty thought crossed Harry's mind.

Then Fred appeared out of nowhere, smashing the bludger straight back at his opposite number. Fred grunted in satisfaction, before yelping in surprise as the bludger again reversed itself to fly back at Harry. Harry flew away once again, followed by Fred, who continued to try – unsuccessfully – to get rid of the bludger.

The game continued, with Fred and George both trying to send the bludger at someone, anyone else, but all to no avail. It even followed Harry during a time-out session. That proved it as far as Harry was concerned. His nasty thought had been right; someone had definitely tampered with the bludger.

Eventually, Fred and George proved unable to keep up with him. Harry's nimbus outstripped their brooms significantly, and they just weren't capable of doing the kind of acrobatics that he could to avoid injury. They were forced to leave him to it; there was another bludger out there, and it was causing havoc amongst the Gryffindor chasers. As they left, they combined their efforts to beat the bludger an incredible distance along the pitch, and Harry was able to gain a significant lead on it. He used the time to look for the snitch, this time with a new intensity. If he caught it, then the spells on the other balls would deactivate, ensuring his safety. He thought he caught a brief glimpse of it, and flew off in that direction, just as the bludger whistled past him once more. Hunched over his broom, Harry saw Diggory heading the same way, and realised that he had been right, that it was the snitch! He risked a glance over his shoulder, and grinned as he saw that the bludger was a fair distance from him.

But his elation was short-lived; not watching where he was going, he slammed straight into Diggory. The older boy cursed, and rolled away, glaring at Harry. Then he shot off after the snitch again. Harry took a second to get his bearings – and then the bludger finally caught up with him, smashing into his arm and snapping it with a vicious force. Harry screamed in pain and spun away. Incredibly, the bludger still seemed intent on following him, even though it had already hit him, and he now had difficulty keeping a tight grip on his wet broom. He flew off, gripping the broom with his knees, and all of a sudden had to dodge another bludger! The Hufflepuff beaters were now hitting the other bludger at him, although this one didn't seem to be attracted to him anymore than normal. Of course, given his injury, it was still difficult to avoid.

Harry flew straight across the pitch towards the Gryffindor goalposts. Diggory was flying around them, weaving in and out after the snitch, and Harry flew straight across his path. This put the older boy in the path of the ordinary bludger, and it snapped the end of his broom off. He spiralled off towards the ground, slowing himself by grasping the goalposts. Seeing a chance, Harry reached out his good arm, and felt the wings flutter against his fingertips – just as the bludger smashed into his leg. He screamed again, and fell from the sky. He was dimly aware of screams from the crowd as he hit the ground with a thud. His eyes widened as the bludger dropped towards him, and he twisted to avoid it; it couldn't still be after him surely? But after thudding into the ground it stayed still. It had just been deactivated.

He had somehow caught the snitch.

* * *

It was safe to say that Harry was not in a good mood – not that his friends were either. Gryffindor had won by a substantial margin, and Madame Pomfrey had fixed his arm and leg in less than a minute (which had been a lucky escape; Lockhart had tried to heal him, but Ron had 'accidentally' shoved him out of the way). But nothing had happened regarding the rogue bludger. Harry and the twins were the only ones who had really been aware of its strange behaviour; from the stands it had been raining so hard that no-one had noticed anything different, and the rest of the team had been dealing with their own problems.

Harry had said nothing to his friends about his suspicions. But anger was smouldering deep inside him, kindling a desire for revenge. He just wasn't sure who to go after. He was fairly sure that the Hufflepuff beaters had been involved in enchanting the bludger, but what about the rest of the team?

Then Fred and George arrived. They both had grim looks on their faces, and were flexing their hands, as if they wanted to hex someone. They sat down, and looked at Harry.

"Well, it was definitely enchanted Harry." said Fred.

"Yep, we heard Diggory having a go at Carter and Pechorin – the beaters. He wasn't happy at all to give him credit."

Harry had a distant look on his face.

"Did they say why they did it?"

"For the good of the school apparently. You know, because you're the Heir of Slytherin and all that crap."

"I see."

Harry sat there in silence, staring off into the distance. Fred and George shuffled in their seats. He was making them nervous. Indeed, the others looked equally nervous. Fred cleared his throat.

"So… Young Harry, name your retaliation. George and I will be happy to make them regret their stupidity."

"No. No I don't think so. Leave them alone. And don't tell anyone, I don't want – Carter and Duncan did you say? – to know that I know what they've done."

"Harry – "

"Promise me."

They all exchanged a worried glance. Neville reached out to his friend.

"Harry, what are you going to do?"

"What makes you think I'm going to do anything Nev? I'm always calm and responsible, you know that."

Ron shook his head, a sceptical expression crossing his face.

"Yeah. And you also told us you threatened Macmillan the other day. So you can understand why we might feel a little sceptical."

"Oh ye of little faith."

"Oh Harry, it's obvious you're going to do something!" Hermione snapped.

Harry grinned, a curiously unsettling sight, with nothing humorous in it.

"Well, I might try and get them to apologise. Goodnight guys; I've got some reading to do."

And with that he left the common room. His friends stared after him, uncomfortable expressions on their faces.

* * *

Zacharias Smith sat by the fire in the Hufflepuff common room, a look of disgust on his face. An appalling amount of people were clustered around Jack Carter and Joey Pechorin, the team beaters, congratulating them on taking revenge for the attack on Justin. It was unbelievable.

Zacharias couldn't believe the stupidity of people sometimes. This was Harry Potter they were talking about, the _Boy-Who-Lived_! As if he could be responsible for the attacks.

Some of Zacharias' closest friends believed that he had an obsession with the Boy-Who-Lived bordering on Colin Creevey levels. This was because not even his closest friends knew the truth about him.

He was a Seer.

Not in the same way as someone like Professor Trelawney – assuming she did actually have the Sight and wasn't a complete fraud. He would never make a prophecy, and he scorned the art of reading tea-leaves. But every so often, when he really concentrated, he would catch a glimpse of the future. It wouldn't always be anything particularly useful; he had once been given a vision of what he would be eating for dinner that evening, something spectacularly useless. The thing was, the significance of a vision wasn't always the important thing. The frequency of visions, and amount of visions he received at any one time were just as important – because too many visions at once could have a hugely detrimental effect on his mind. This would be far more likely to happen when he was around a large number of people, so Hogwarts was a rather hazardous environment for him.

To avoid this, he had made a point of going to see Harry on the train to Hogwarts, at the beginning of his first year. He had grown up hearing the story of the Boy-Who-Lived, and likely would have been something of a fan even without his Sight. However, the Smith family had their doubts about Voldemort's death. They believed that the events in Godric's Hollow were merely the consequences of a battle, not the end of the war. A setback for Voldemort, not his ultimate defeat. They believed that Harry would still have a role to play in the fight against Voldemort, and this had been confirmed in Zacharias' eyes when he met Harry. He had received no specific visions, but to his heightened Sight, there was a distinct air of _destiny _around the dark-haired boy.

In recognition of this, on his first night at Hogwarts, Zacharias had made Harry his anchor. This restricted all the visions he would ever receive to ones involving Harry from that point on. The benefits of this had been proved before the year was out. He had seen a vision of Harry being attacked in the Forbidden Forest. Of course, Harry hadn't paid much attention to him, and had barely survived the attack, but the point was that he had achieved something useful. He had taken the first step towards becoming Harry's ally in the upcoming war. It had given him a greater sense of accomplishment than anything else he had ever done, despite the limitations of what he had seen. Sadly, he couldn't actually come right out and tell Harry the future. He could only offer hints and advice, even when he had a totally clear, unambiguous vision. If he offered too much information, then he would be stripped of his Sight for violating the ancient laws of Balance.

In the first few days of the school year, Zacharias had been gifted with a vision. People apparently being turned to stone. Death. The constant hissing of some kind of serpent. And a shadowy figure with burning red eyes. Understandably, this had worried him somewhat. As if that hadn't been bad enough, he had heard Justin Finch-Fletchly and Ernie Macmillan talking about Harry Potter, and the way his eyes had seemed to turn red.

Zacharias did not – could not believe that Harry was responsible for what he had seen, but given everything that had happened to him thus far in life, it was easy to believe that he would be at the centre of events once again. So he had given him another rather oblique warning, hoping that would be enough. But now…

Mrs Norris had been attacked, and Zacharias had hoped that would be the end of it. It was obvious that Harry hadn't been responsible, and he had noticed the previous year that attacks against him seemed to galvanise him. However, Harry had done nothing, and more attacks had occurred, culminating in Justin's Petrification. Perhaps Harry needed some more help…

Casting one last look of disgust at his classmates, Zacharias left the common room, heading to his room – each student in Hufflepuff had a separate room, unlike Gryffindor's dorm rooms. He locked the door, and sat down cross-legged on the floor. He closed his eyes, and an expression of deep concentration fell across his face as he began to _look_.

Seeing the future was not terribly tricky if one was naturally gifted; even those without any natural Sight could achieve basic predictions with the right aids, such as a crystal ball. The difficulty came in refining what you saw so that it would actually be useful. By making Harry his anchor, Zacharias had managed to refine his visions by a significant margin, but he couldn't always control the speed, clarity and order in which they came. He might get a vision of tomorrow, next week, next year or next decade. But again, it was just a matter of concentration and perseverance.

He concentrated _hard_.

He began to shake slightly as visions began to flood his head, flashing before his eyes, so many of them, dozens of them.

**Flash.**

_Harry was standing in front of a large stone arch, a grey, insubstantial curtain fluttering from it. He had a look of wonder and – sadness? – on his face, but Zacharias couldn't see why._

**Flash.**

_Harry was standing in front of a dilapidated building, probably Victorian. He was wincing as if in pain, and the air around him was shimmering with power. _

**Flash.**

_Harry and Sirius were duelling _– and unconsciously, Zacharias sighed a sigh of relief and sorrow. Harry's guardians had realised the danger, and were taking steps to prepare him for it. He was just sorry that it had to come so soon; Harry still looked so young.

**Flash.**

_Harry fell to the wet grass as Death Eaters laughed around him. He looked up in fear, and then screamed and writhed in pain as a curse was placed on him._

**Flash.**

_Harry, much older, was standing over a cot, gazing in adoration at the baby sleeping in it. _

**Flash.**

_Harry placed a bunch of flowers before a gravestone. The epitaph and name were obscured._

**Flash.**

_Harry sat on the floor, speechless with hysterical laughter, and surrounded by his friends._

**Flash.**

_Harry, lying on the ground, covered in blood, blood pouring from a wound over his heart, a pale glow illuminating the trees around him._

**Flash.**

_Harry stood in one of the bathrooms, in front of a sink. Lockhart was standing behind him, looking nervous. Harry hissed at the sink, and it began to open._

**Flash**

_Harry cowered behind a statue, his eyes shut, as an impossibly big snake slithered behind him, its eyes blazing golden. There was a flash of fire over the snake's head, and Harry opened his eyes._

**Flash.**

Zacharias came to lying on the floor of his room. He stumbled to his feet, and threw his trunk open, frantically searching for his book of magical creatures. He flipped through the pages, and held it open, staring at the page.

A Basilisk.

That was definitely the snake that he had seen in that vision. Harry hadn't looked any older. That had definitely been this year! And a Basilisk would certainly fit in with the history behind the Chamber. But no-one had died. If a basilisk really was wandering the corridors of Hogwarts then people would have died by now, he was certain of it. He frowned in confusion, and then smiled to himself. The bathroom where Mrs Norris had been found had flooded; there had been a large pool of water. Justin had been with Nearly-Headless Nick when he was attacked. They hadn't seen the basilisk full in the face. Could that have weakened the effect of its deadly gaze?

He slammed the book shut, and flung everything back in his trunk. Sod the laws of Balance. He was going to tell Harry straight out that there was a basilisk in the school. It was his duty as future advisor and guide to the Boy-Who-Lived. And if he lost his Sight… Well, he was capable with a wand, and Harry would need all the help he could get he was sure.

Zacharias hurried out of the portrait door, ignoring his classmates. As he walked to the staircase, making sure to keep an eye out for Filch, he realised that he was still smiling. It took him a moment to realise why. It was the visions. Many of them had indicated that Harry was going to suffer dreadfully over the next few years. But he had a baby. He had friends. He was going to be _alright_. For some reason, this filled Zacharias with a deep sense of joy.

As Zacharias reached the fourth floor, he stopped. He had heard something. There was a noise coming from further down the corridor. He stood there and listened.

Something was hissing.

Sweating with fear, Zacharias crept down the corridor, following it as it twisted, the hissing growing ever louder, careful not to make a sound. When he reached the corner, he slowly stuck his wand round the wall. There was no reaction. Whoever – whatever – was there, they weren't looking at him. He risked poking his head round.

It took a great effort not to shout out. Her? It couldn't be, not after what he had Seen! It couldn't be! But it was unmistakably a basilisk she was talking to. Hissing to. The serpent hissed, its tongue flickering, and she looked round, straight at him. As he stared in shock, Zacharias remembered that where dark magic was concerned, people weren't necessarily always in full control of their actions.

Nobody had eyes that shade of burning red.

He turned and ran, his heart pounding. He heard her hissing again, and an awful sound began to follow him, the sound of scale on stone. He remembered precisely what was chasing him. He shut his eyes, feeling his way through the twisting corridor by hand. Why did the castle have to be designed like this? He heard portraits shouting at him as he ran out of the corridor onto the landing, and he opened his eyes as he ran onto the stairs.

And then he screamed as he realised, too late, that the stairs had shifted.

He didn't even have time to blink before he hit the floor with a terrible crack. He gasped in excruciating pain. He couldn't move his head. No, he couldn't move at all. He felt his magic try to repair the massive damage to his body, and then he felt it drain away, the task too much for it to manage. He could barely breathe. It hurt to swallow. His cheek was sticky, and he dimly realised that his head was coated with what must be blood. The hallway was beginning to fade for some reason. Or was it simply that he couldn't register what he was seeing anymore?

Zacharias Smith began to cry, gently, before his eyes closed, and he saw no more.

Far above, Tom Riddle smiled in satisfaction as he stared at the still, small body of his first true victim.

* * *

A/N: Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated. 


	14. Harry's Resolution

**Chapter 12: Harry's Resolution**

Early the next morning, Severus Snape left his office for the staff meeting, a pile of essays under his arm. He was in a bad mood. He had been up late testing the bludger for signs of dark – or Dark – magic, on Dumbledore's orders. He had found nothing, and he was rather annoyed that Potter was deemed incapable of being injured unless there was some sinister motive behind it. It was Quidditch, he was bound to be injured every so often! Couldn't people just accept that? He hadn't thought it a good idea to actually say that out loud of course. He wasn't an idiot.

As he surfaced from the dungeons, gliding over to the staircase, he stopped dead at the sight of another of the blazing messages carved into the wall. There was a body underneath it.

Dropping the essays, he dashed over, and sank to his knees in horror at the sight of Zacharias Smith's mangled body. There was a large pool of dried blood surrounding the boy's body. He looked up at the message, a scowl darkening his face as he read it.

_**One down. But I would dig a mass grave; it will save you time later on…**_

Snape snarled in rage, and flicked his wand. A silver shape darted out of the tip, flying up the stairs to Dumbledore. He then levitated the body, and set off for the Hospital Wing.

* * *

Dumbledore sank into a chair in despair. This was the worst that could have happened. The list of injuries that Poppy was reading out was staggering: broken neck, broken ribs – that had punctured the boys lungs – an arm and a leg showed signs of magical healing, suggesting they had broken as well, and massive internal bleeding. Smith had died alone and in agony, and he had no idea why or how.

He stared at the body blankly, picturing the Minister's reaction to the news that a student had been killed. There would be an inquiry, almost certainly, and how was he to explain that he believed Voldemort to be behind it somehow? He couldn't' offer proof; he knew for a fact that the Dark Lord was nowhere near Hogwarts, but equally could detect no sign of any of other Dark wizards. Hagrid would be arrested for sure, and there was a possibility that he would be removed from his position. Armando Dippet had been removed very soon after the Chamber of Secrets had last been opened, the last time a student had died in suspicious circumstances at the school. Dumbledore desperately hoped that he would be allowed to stay on; teaching had been his life since his twenties, and he didn't know what else he could do. And all modesty aside, he couldn't think of anyone else who might be able to do anything about the Heir of Slytherin at present.

While Albus planned his political manoeuvres, Pomona Sprout arrived, pale with shock at the news of her students death. She listened intently while Poppy went over the list of injuries again, and her eyes were blazing with rage by the end. She did not look impressed by Dumbledore's platitudes, and walked away in disgust while he was still speaking, a mark of near mutiny from the jovial woman. Dumbledore almost pitied the Heir then. Hufflepuffs were generally seen as fairly placid, and rather unintelligent. But when they banded together to protect their own, then you needed to be worried. They were even more loyal than the stereotypical Gryffindor.

With a sigh, and a final look at Zacharias, Dumbledore left to prepare his announcement to the school at breakfast. Many would already have worked out what must have happened through the message on the wall.

* * *

Dumbledore was right. The message had attracted a great deal of attention from those who had gone to breakfast early, who had in turn gathered their housemates. The arrival of Hufflepuff house with black armbands only confirmed the already widespread rumours. He surveyed the student body as they took their seats, looking up at the staff in fear. With a sigh, he climbed to his feet to give the announcement, and a hush fell across the hall.

"I am sure that many of you will have seen the warning engraved by the Grand Staircase, and that you will have drawn your own conclusions. It is my sad duty to inform you that early this morning, Zacharias Smith, a second year of Hufflepuff house, was found dead at that same place. He had not been killed by the supposed monster, but had fallen – or been thrown – from the staircase. He died of his injuries, which were grievous indeed.

I urge any of you with any information regarding this tragedy to come forward; all information will be treated confidentially. It has not escaped my attention that there is a certain amount of support for this Heir of Slytherin; I can only hope that Zacharias' death will serve to dispel this misguided belief. This murderer has only shown that they have no regard for human life at all. Zacharias was not muggleborn, or even a halfblood. There was no reason for his death other than sheer callousness and viciousness."

Dumbledore looked around the room, as if he could sense the Heir's guilt. Few people met his eye. Many Hufflepuff students had their heads bowed, staring at their plates in sorrow for their fallen classmate. A few students here and there had carefully blank faces, obviously concealing the fact that they didn't really care about dead students. He would certainly be keeping an eye on them. He skimmed over Harry quickly; the boy's gaze was accusatory, questioning, and it made Dumbledore feel more uncomfortable than he would want to admit.

"There will be a team of Aurors arriving today to take over the investigation. Lack of co-operation will likely be treated with suspicion, so for your own sakes, if nothing else, treat them with respect.

Do not forget Zacharias Smith. Honour him."

He raised his goblet in a toast, and the students followed his example, murmuring his name.

* * *

Dumbledore stared across his desk at the Ministry representative. She was a squat, toad-like woman who he vaguely recognised from meetings with the Minister. His secretary or something, if he remembered correctly. He couldn't help but feel that she was grossly inappropriate to lead a murder investigation. A frilly pink cardigan and a bow in your hair did not conjure an image of full professionalism. She was reviewing the notes she had made during his recap of the events of Halloween and the following weeks.

"I must say Professor, I am somewhat curious as to why you did not inform the Ministry of the re-opening of the Chamber of Secrets. Some might believe you were attempting to cover it up."

"I assure you Madame…"

The woman's eyes flickered in irritation, but she smiled brightly.

"Umbridge. Delores Umbridge, senior undersecretary to the Minister, attached to the Aurors. We have met."

"Of course, I apologise, the rigours of age. I'm sure you understand… But I assure you, I would never try to keep anything from the Minister. I value our working relationship a great deal."

Umbridge fixed him with a pointed glare, but Dumbledore had been stared at a great deal in his life, and his poker face was second only to Severus Snape.

"Be that as it may… The fact that you have kept this secret could lead to questions about your commitment to the students safety."

The candles flickered in the sudden wind. Fawkes squawked as Dumbledore's eyes began to flicker with anger and power, and Umbridge sat back in her chair.

"Madame Umbridge, I would _never_ endanger any of my students knowingly. I resent the implication most strongly."

"I – I was speaking only hypothetically Headmaster. I of course know that your dedication remains undimmed."

"Good."

The two stared at each other for another moment. Umbridge broke first, turning back to her notes and shuffling them nervously.

"Hem-hem… I understand that the culprit was caught the last time the Chamber was opened. I haven't been informed of what happened to them though. Could you enlighten me?"

"Rubeus was employed by Hogwarts, and still is."

"Rubeus?"

"Hagrid, the groundskeeper. I personally do not believe he ever had anything to do with the matter."

Umbridge stared at him incredulously.

"I'm sorry… He is still employed at the school? Even now, when the Chamber has been re-opened? Who else could it possibly be?"

"I personally think that the recent occurrences are the result of an enchantment placed on the Chamber the last time it was opened. The true culprit is… indisposed."

"What do you mean the true culprit?"

"Tom Riddle. More infamously known as Lord Voldemort."

She flinched, violently.

"Do not say his name! You mean that he was – "

"He was at the school at the time, and he claimed to have caught Hagrid in the act. I know which one I would trust more."

"Well yes, when you put it like that… But it can't be You-Know-Who, he's dead."

"But his magic could live on. An enchantment placed on the Chamber, time-activated, would explain everything. He had no family to continue his work, that is certain."

"And I don't suppose you've caught any trace of such an enchantment?"

"If I had, then Zacharias Smith would likely still be alive."

"Very well. We will be questioning the students of course, and the staff. Veritaserum will be used if necessary."

"Madame Umbridge – "

"No Professor. We will do whatever is necessary to stop this, no matter what you might say. That is by order of the Minister himself."

Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak once more, but Umbridge had already risen from her chair to leave.

"May you be guided and protected by the light always Headmaster. Lux Aeternam."

Dumbledore blinked at the ancient blessing, and stifled a groan. Of all the people he could have sent, Fudge had picked a Light fundamentalist. Half the school would oppose her on principle, whether they knew anything or not.

* * *

Harry and his friends sat in silence in their common room. Classes had been cancelled for the day while the Aurors conducted preliminary investigations. Harry was feeling… strange. They had all been shocked by the news, but Harry had not expected to feel this upset about it. He hadn't really known Zacharias; the pale boy had shown up every so often, said something mysterious and then disappeared. It was hardly the basis for a long-lasting friendship. He stood up. Ron looked up at him.

"Harry? Where're you going?"

"I want to see him."

"Who?"

"Smith. I want to see his body."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know. I – I just need to see it."

A look of concern passed across Hermione's face at Harry's statement.

"Harry, are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Half the school thinks you're responsible for this Harry, going to see his body might not be the smartest thing you've ever done."

Harry stared at her, before nodding.

"True. But… I dunno, I just feel like I owe it to him you know? I can't explain why."

Before any of them could say anything further, he had turned and left the common room. Neville stood up.

"I'm going after him. You know what Dumbledore said about going round the school on your own."

* * *

Harry and Neville walked quietly over to the bed, where Zacharias Smith's body lay, covered in a white sheet. Madame Pomfrey had been reluctant to let them in, but fortunately Dumbledore had been there finalising arrangements for moving the body back home, and had vouched for them both. The Hospital Wing felt even more dismal than usual. It even seemed darker, as if there was a cloud over them. Harry pulled back the sheet, and they both gasped in shock. Zacharias' body was a horrific sight. Harry swore softly to himself, and Neville turned away.

"Why are you here Harry? You don't owe him anything, you barely knew him."

"He tried to warn me Nev. He told me something was going to happen, and I ignored him."

Neville looked at Harry, trying to work out what was on his friends mind.

"Well, maybe, but it isn't your responsibility Harry. You're a student, you should leave it to Dumbledore and the others."

"But I didn't even tell them. I haven't told them anything, and maybe if I had done then he'd be alive."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"How do you know that I am being? He fixed on me as someone important, he kept warning me about things that were going to happen. He relied on me, and I let him down."

"He was crazy, you thought so yourself! So what if he did, he never actually told you anything really useful did he? You said the last time you spoke all he said was that it was too late. What goods that?"

"Maybe he was just doing the best he could. He thought I could do something about whatever's happening, and I've basically just tried to ignore everything. I hid in my room, I didn't trust Dumbledore, I didn't even pluck up the courage to face that little git MacMillan. What kind of hero am I Nev?"

Neville stared at his friend in silence, unable to think of anything to say.

"He tried to help me, ever since I got here. He told me something was going to happen before the Forbidden Forest remember? Merlin knows why or how, but he tried to help me from the moment we met. I owe him Nev. I really do. And I can pay it back by avenging him."

"But why does it have to be you?"

Harry kept his gaze on Zacharias. He couldn't say why it had to be him personally who stopped the Heir. Not aloud. In the privacy of his own head, he could admit that he wanted revenge on Voldemort, a conscious revenge, not something he had no control over. And stopping the Heir himself would certainly stop the hostility that had been directed towards him ever since Halloween. Neville might understand that, but he would never agree to it.

There was a noise behind him. Cedric Diggory was standing at the door, a curious expression on his face. Almost pitying. Harry met his eyes, waiting for him to say something.

"Did you really mean all that Potter?"

"Don't you know it's rude to listen to people's private conversations?"

Cedric made a dismissive gesture, as if there was something far more important to think about.

"But you really meant it. About avenging him."

Harry glared at him.

"I'm not in the habit of breaking my promises Diggory, even when the people they concern can't be aware of them."

Diggory smiled gently.

"I never really believed you were the Heir Potter. Not your style. I've tried my best to get people to listen, but my influence in the House only goes so far. They'd much rather have someone they can actually hate than worry about some nameless and faceless psycho. And when some of the victim's friends are naming you as the culprit… We are maybe too loyal sometimes."

Harry nodded, a steely glint coming into his eye.

"What about that legendary sense of fair-play? There was something wrong with that bludger, which a pair of little birds have suggested might be to do with your Beaters."

Diggory glared himself, although Harry could tell that he was imagining that other people were in front of him at that point.

"There's always a few idiots Potter."

Harry smiled coldly, reminding Neville of the previous evening, when they had discussed the bludger attack. It sent a shiver down his spine.

"Don't tell them I know will you Cedric?"

Diggory studied the younger boy for a moment, before shaking his head.

"Sorry, but I'm not that angry with them. I saw what you did to Lockhart. They deserve some warning."

Harry scowled, and for a moment, barely a second, his eyes blurred and stung, as if there was something in them. He blinked swiftly, and everything was back to normal. Diggory didn't seem to have noticed. He shrugged to cover his confusion.

"It's all the warning they'll get."

Diggory grinned at the younger boy's confidence – at his arrogance – before gesturing to the body behind the two Gryffindors, his smile falling from his face.

"I'll do what I can about getting the other 'Puffs to lay off you, but it won't be easy. Not after this. The whole House is just itching for someone to blame. The fact that Madame Pomfrey let you in here means something to me. It might not to them though."

"Then tell them that Dumbledore vouched for Harry before he came in." said Neville softly. Diggory blinked in surprise. He seemed to have forgotten that Neville was there.

"I will. See you around Potter."

None of them moved. Diggory cleared his throat, sounding impatient for the first time.

"I would like to pay my respects by myself thank you. If you're done of course."

The two Gryffindors left the Hospital Wing, silently considering everything that had been said.

* * *

Hermione looked up as the portrait door. She was pleased to see that Harry looked calmer than he had done when he left. Ron was trying to cheer Ginny up with a game of chess. He may have been more successful if he hadn't been beating her so soundly. Ginny looked unusually angry at this; she usually took defeat (in chess at least) in her stride. Hermione nudged them both, pointing out their friends return. Ron waved casually to them both, before moving into a checkmate with unseemly glee. Ginny threw her pieces down, muttering under her breath.

Harry and Neville sat down, telling the others what had happened with Cedric. Harry said nothing of his resolution, and Neville followed his lead for the moment. They were delighted by this turn of events, although Ginny's excitement was curiously muted. They sat there for a while longer, taking the opportunity to relax while they could. It had only been two weeks since the start of term, not even February yet, and already so much had happened. Eventually Ginny got up to leave, looking for food with her classmates. As she did so, something fell out of her bag. Harry reached over to grab out, calling out to her. It appeared to be a diary.

He froze as he touched it. The power was tangible, calling to mind the sensation he felt by the river where the Prewitt brothers had fallen. The remnants of the Killing Curse.

The diary was _evil_.

Harry screamed as his fingertips began to blacken, smoke rising where he was touching it. His eyes began to glow, faintly. Ginny began to scream as well, and whipped out her wand, flicking it savagely in his direction. The diary flew towards her, and with a second flick of her wand Harry was sent soaring over the couch to land on a desk, which shattered under the impact. His head groggy, he looked up to see Ron, Neville and Hermione shouting at her unintelligibly, their own wands raised. Ginny snarled at them, her eyes flashing. Wait. Her _red _eyes? She flicked her wand again, and another couch flew upwards, battering the three friends to the ground. Hopping over the remaining seat, Ginny – or whoever was using her body, because this plainly wasn't Ginny – pointed her wand at Harry. With a vicious grin she cast a spell on him, and for the second time in his life, Harry screamed under the Cruciatus curse. A piercing bell began to sound, and Ginny looked up, still snarling. She ran to the portrait door, the other Gryffindors cowering away from her, as Harry blacked out once again.

* * *

Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated. 


	15. An Inquisitive Toad

**Chapter 13: An Inquisitive Toad**

Riddle ran.

He clutched his precious diary tight to his chest – her chest – and the wand in the other hand, ready for anyone. The alarm raised when he'd cast the Unforgivable would likely have the staff flocking to the tower like flies. Wait. There were Aurors here now weren't there?

He ran faster.

Damn the boy! Why couldn't he keep his hands to himself? Why did little Miss Weasley have to have such a shoddy bag? He grinned, despite himself. He'd made them regret interfering though. Shame about blowing his cover, but there were plenty of other targets… Maybe the blood traitors would still fall from grace with his intrusion discovered as well.

He wasn't just running. Panicked as he was, he had someone else in mind. He might need to hide for a bit, let things die down, but he could do that easily enough. No-one would find him if he could just reach it. No-one could reach him there.

He reached his destination without discovery. It was empty. Annoying, but not crucial. He'd studied his target, and knew that they would return sooner or later. There was too much of a taste for the finer things in life there.

He retreated to the Chamber to recuperate. Ginny's magical core wasn't big enough to allow such casual spell casting, and he was tiring rapidly.

But Riddle was used to waiting…

_

* * *

_

Dumbledore burst into the Gryffindor common room, closely followed by McGonagall, Umbridge and two Aurors. He stared around in horror at the startled students. Some of the younger ones were sobbing. There was a groan from the other side of the room, and he finally saw Harry lying on the floor. He was twitching slightly. Dumbledore flicked his wand, sending a Patronus to the Hospital Wing. He crouched over his injured student, checking him for serious injuries. Behind him, Umbridge and McGonagall were starting to question students. Umbridge grabbed a girl by the shoulder, staring her straight in the face.

"What happened here? Who cast the Unforgivable?"

"I – it was that girl, Weasley, I don't know her first name. She just started screaming and then she was attacking her friends!"

Umbridge looked curiously at McGonagall.

"Weasley… Arthur Weasley's daughter?"

McGonagall nodded, her lips tight together. She looked even more confused than some of the students.

"She would never do something like this, I'm sure of it."

"I know what I saw Professor!"

There came another groan as Harry's friends began to come round. Ron sat up slowly, shaking his head to clear it, before bolting straight upright.

"Ginny! What happened, where did she go?"

"I was hoping that you could tell us that Mr Weasley."

"Professor? I – when did you get here?"

"Just now. The wards detected an Unforgivable curse being cast."

Ron frowned.

"Nothing like that happened. Not while I was conscious anyway."

The girl who had spoken previously piped up once more.

"She – she cast the Cruciatus curse on Potter."

"No way, Gin would never hurt him, certainly not like that!"

"Not of her own accord at least Mr Weasley."

The room fell silent at Dumbledore's statement. He stood up, a dark look on his face, and turned to Umbridge.

"You recall, I am sure, what I said about lingering enchantments Madame Umbridge?"

"You think the girl was enchanted by Y – I mean, by the Heir of Slytherin?"

"I think it more likely than her cursing Harry in such a fashion, yes. Tell us what happened Mr Weasley."

Ron gaped in anxiety, unnerved by speaking to the legendary Dumbledore.

"I dunno really Professor. She – she dropped her diary, I didn't even know she had one, but Harry picked it up and… And he started screaming, and it was _burning_. And then she started screaming as well, and her eyes… Her eyes turned red! Then she attacked us and, well, I don't know what happened after that."

Dumbledore's eyes gleamed.

"A diary you say? Certainly something worth investigating…"

Umbridge scowled, and waved at the two Aurors.

"Don't tell us how to do our jobs Dumbledore."

"Madame Umbridge, I assure you I am doing no such thing. I am merely attempting to offer helpful advice, as is the duty of all respectable citizens."

They stared at each other in silence, an innocent smile on Dumbledore's face and barely concealed fury on Umbridge's. Once again, she broke first, drawing herself up to her full height, which was not all that impressive an achievement.

"The castle must be searched. She could be anywhere."

"Madame Umbridge, if Ginny Weasley really has been possessed by the Heir, then she will not be anywhere that we can find her."

"What do you mean _possessed_?" Ron shouted.

They looked at him. Dumbledore sighed.

"I believe that your sister has acquired something that the Heir enchanted the last time the Chamber was open. In essence, she has been possessed by the spirit of the Heir of Slytherin. If I am right of course, that remains to be proven or otherwise" he said, with a nod to the Aurors.

Ron went pale.

"Will she be alright?"

"Oh, I would expect so, given time."

Dumbledore turned his back on them, and with a flick of his wand raised Harry into the air. The three friends stared at each other in confusion and fear as the staff left the common room.

* * *

Harry sat on the bed in the Hospital Wing, staring, unblinking, into Dumbledore's eyes. Given the shared reaction with Ginny when he had touched the diary, the Headmaster was worried about whether Harry had been possessed as well. As a result, Harry was letting Dumbledore rummage around inside his brain with Legilimency.

Dumbledore was humming under his breath as he read Harry's mind. It was a little disconcerting.

After about 15 minutes, Dumbledore lowered his wand, smiling brightly.

"Excellent news Harry! You are entirely free of malignant influences. The diary had no effect on you at all, other than the injuries to your hand obviously."

Harry smiled in relief. His hand had been badly burnt though. His fingertips had turned black, and he currently couldn't feel anything with them. Madame Pomfrey had applied a cream, but so far it had had little, if any effect. He was still far more concerned about Ginny. She had been missing now for a few hours, doing Merlin only knew what. And he knew she would be devastated by what she had been made to do. He burned with a desire to make whoever was behind pay; now not just because of the obligation he felt towards Zacharias Smith. He did have a few questions though.

"Why did the diary burn like that sir?"

"I am sad to say that I do not know Harry. Without a chance to examine the diary itself we may never know. Is there anything else you can say about it, other than it hurt?"

Harry hunched in on himself slightly. Quite apart from the pain, the diary had scared him more than anything else, even Quirrell. He had never felt anything so foul in his life. It had been worse even than the lingering taint of the Killing Curse near the Burrow. It made him shudder just to think about it. His initial reaction, he decided, had been rather mild.

"Harry?"

Dumbledore was looking at him in concern. He shook himself mentally, forcing himself to think about the diary calmly.

"It's difficult to explain sir… It felt – evil. No, not just evil, it felt _wrong_. Unnatural, like it shouldn't have been possible for it to exist. Does that sound stupid?"

"Not at all Harry. Not at all. It sounds very dangerous in fact. But tell me, what do you mean by how it 'felt'?"

"I don't know sir. It just really spooked me."

Dumbledore sat back, gazing into thin air, stroking his beard in puzzlement. Harry watched him hopefully, unable to suppress the belief that the Headmaster would suddenly smile and explain everything. However, Dumbledore said nothing.

The silence was suddenly interrupted by a quiet cough. Harry turned to the door and immediately tried to conceal his disgust at the toad-like woman standing there. Judging by the look on her face, he wasn't successful in the slightest. When she spoke, he nearly giggled at how girlish she sounded; Ginny had sounded more mature five years ago.

"Professor Dumbledore, I am sure I recollect instructing you that I wished to speak to Mr Potter first? I am sure that you wouldn't want me to put in a bad report with the Minister. He does take a very keen interest in your activities you know…"

Dumbledore didn't even blink at the hardly veiled at all threat, favouring her with a benign smile. The lack of reaction seemed to infuriate the witch, and she began to tap her wand against the clipboard she was holding.

"If Mr Potter and I might have some privacy Professor?"

At this, Dumbledore did frown.

"Harry is a minor Madame Umbridge. In the absence of his guardians, I am required to oversee official encounters by law. You are, I know, absolutely dedicated to the law Madame Umbridge."

Harry carefully didn't smirk as the witch flushed in embarrassment. He had to admire the way that she then just pretended that Dumbledore wasn't there, turning to Harry and fixing her gaze on him exclusively.

"Now Mr Potter, perhaps you could explain to me precisely what happened?"

Harry recounted the events of the afternoon, keeping one eye on Dumbledore as he did so. When he came to precisely how the diary had affected him, Dumbledore gave a minute shake of his head. Harry swiftly amended his story to include a theory about some sort of defensive curse. He wasn't sure how successful he had been; Umbridge frowned at this point, as if she had detected his lie. However, she said nothing. When he had finished his explanation, she scribbled a few notes before looking him in the eye again.

"Why do you think that Miss Weasley was chosen to be the bearer of the diary Mr Potter?"

"Excuse me?" Harry glanced at Dumbledore openly this time. The Headmaster looked extremely angry, and his beard was moving as if there was a wind blowing round his shoulders. His power was running close to wild, Harry realised. To his astonishment, Umbridge seemed genuinely unfazed by this, focussed more on the question than her surroundings.

"Would you say that Miss Weasley has the makings of a Dark witch Mr Potter?"

Harry looked at her in shock, and felt a ripple of disgust at the hungry look on her face. She wanted Ginny to be condemned. She was clearly a Light fanatic.

"Define 'Dark'" Harry said coldly.

"Harmful. Wild. Dangerous. Painful. Deceptive. Impure. It is all in the Ministry pamphlets Mr Potter, I suggest you read them at some point, or risk being denounced as a Dark wizard yourself. We wouldn't want any confusion."

Harry clenched his fists in anger. She had covered an incredible amount of magic in her 'definition', and he wondered how much influence she had over the Minister in this matter. He opened his mouth to retort, but stopped as Dumbledore cleared his throat and shook his head. Harry held his silence a moment longer, burying his anger deep before he replied.

"Ginny's one of the nicest people you could ever meet. She isn't a danger to anyone. She's a victim here, not a culprit."

Harry and Umbridge held each others gaze, Harry trying to convey precisely how he felt about the woman direct into her brain. Finally, she nodded and stood to leave.

"Thank you for your assistance. Rest assured my team will be doing everything they can to find Miss Weasley. May you be guided and protected by the light always Mr Potter. Lux Aeternam."

s.b

It was several hours after curfew. Almost silently, the sinks of the second floor bathroom slid apart, and Tom Riddle climbed out, still in full control of Ginny's body. Her magical core had recovered nicely, and he now had enough magic to overcome any obstacles he might meet. He would need to be quick though; it was only a matter of time before Dumbledore thought to raise enchantments to set off the wards whenever Ginny's magical signature became apparent. That was partly why he had caused so much havoc before leaving the common room earlier that day. Clearing it up should have kept them occupied while he recovered.

He met nobody on the way to his destination, which suggested that he had been right. There was no trace raised yet. He made himself comfortable behind a statue while he waited for his target to come past, as he knew they would. Sure enough, several minutes later, his target walked past, dark robes billowing. Riddle stepped out from behind the statue, his wand raised. Before his target could do anything, he had knocked them out. Stepping over to their fallen body, he carefully placed the diary in their hand.

Then he ripped himself out of Ginny's brain, back into the diary.

Her scream echoed round the corridors as her memories fractured. She collapsed, her body convulsing, and her nose started to bleed. By the time Riddle awakened inside his new hosts mind, her magic was starting to fight back; her nose was no longer bleeding, and the convulsions were less severe. But she was clearly no powerhouse, and he was glad that he had switched. His new host was not the most powerful wizard it was true, but he did have some useful skills. And of course, there was the sheer irony of it.

Riddle raised his wand again, tearing into Ginny's mind, checking that there was nothing left in there that could be used against him. He smiled at what he saw, a grim celebration of the damage he had left.

As he left her mind once more, she was beginning to show signs of magical exhaustion, and she was still twitching. He sneered; a Pureblood, and no more magical power than that Mudblood Granger that she liked to hang out with. She had been an unworthy vessel. He placed his wand back inside his new robes, still staring at her. Suddenly angered by the pitiful display, he lashed out, smashing her in the face with his boot, laughing harshly at the spray of blood. He drew his wand again, and used her blood to write a new message above her body. Then, with another kick for good measure, he walked away, plotting on how to best utilise his new disguise.

s.b

Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated. And thanks for the reviews on previous chapters by the way; I know I haven't been able to reply to the last few, but I'll do my best from now on.


	16. Harry's Revenge

**Chapter 14: Harry's Revenge**

Harry was woken around midnight by Professor McGonagall ushering Ron out of bed. She was saying something about a third floor corridor, and the Hospital Wing. His friend looked worried, and mouthed 'Ginny' when he saw Harry sitting up. Harry immediately tried to follow them, but McGonagall sent him back to bed with a stern glare. Harry glowered after her as she left, followed by Ron and his brothers, before opening his trunk and pulling out his father's Cloak. He draped it over his shoulders, before hurrying down the stairs and out of the portrait door, much to the confusion of the Fat Lady.

However, instead of following the others, he veered off towards the third floor, eager to find out why McGonagall had mentioned it. He desperately wanted to know what had happened to Ginny of course, but Dumbledore was likely to be there, and if anyone could see through an Invisibility Cloak, it would be him. He didn't have to search the third floor long. There were two Aurors standing in one of the corridors, their wands illuminating the wall, where there was another message. This one was not carved into the wall, but painted on in what looked suspiciously like blood. Harry felt a shiver go down his spine as he read.

_**She was an unworthy vessel; but there are so many unworthy here, so many for me to kill, to maim. You know now that I can be anywhere, anybody. No-one is safe from me. I will fill the castle with the worthless dead, and their blood shall serve me and restore me.**_

_**I shall return.**_

_**Lord Voldemort, the Heir of Slytherin.**_

Harry almost gasped in horror at the signature. He doubted very much that the message could be removed, and soon everyone would know who was stalking the school. Dumbledore might even be forced to close Hogwarts! At least people might stop blaming Harry for everything now; the message made it pretty clear who was ultimately responsible. He wondered what Dumbledore would say about it.

* * *

Harry was sitting on his bed when Ron returned, anxiously awaiting news of Ginny. Ron woke Neville up, before quietly conveying the news that Ginny was physically fine, or would be after Madame Pomfrey's ministrations. Her mental state was another matter. Her memory had been fractured severely; while her brain was in surprisingly good condition, she could remember hardly anything from the last few months, and some memories were irretrievably lost. As Ron explained, Harry leapt from the bed, pacing the room to relieve his frustration and anger in the absence of anything to destroy.

Ron finished explaining, and silence fell over the dormitory, punctuated only by Seamus' snoring reverberating around the room. Then, a moment later, Harry told them what he had seen on the third floor. He paused briefly before telling them who had signed it, preparing himself for their reactions.

They were fairly predictable.

Ron started swearing profusely, breaking into terms that Harry wasn't familiar with. Neville went pale, and said nothing.

"You mean my sister's been possessed by You-Know-Who? That's just great! How can it have happened? He's supposed to be dead!"

"Remember, Dumbledore was saying something about lingering enchantments earlier Ron… He might have done something while he was still alive, and Ginny was just unlucky enough to get caught up in it" Neville pointed out.

Harry shuffled on the bed. He did not think that Ron would take the news that he had known about Voldemort's involvement for a while now very well. Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice Harry's discomfort, still too concerned about Ginny's plight to think about anything else. Neville however looked at him in curiosity, but refrained from saying anything.

They sat there for a few hours more, discussing what might have happened to the diary since Ginny had fled the common room. They were still talking as dawn began to break, by which time they were nearly falling asleep where they sat.

* * *

The next morning proved to be an interesting one. Dumbledore made another announcement at breakfast, explaining what had happened, and the content of the message. He left Ginny's name out of it, while warning the rest of the students that attempts at retribution would not be tolerated; nobody could be blamed for falling victim to such a dangerous opponent. He levelled a stern glare at the Hufflepuff table as he spoke, and many of them cringed in embarrassment.

As they had been leaving the Hall, Susan Bones had appeared, calling Harry's name. He had ignored her, his friends following suit, but had been forced to acknowledge her when she started to run after him. Since she was now standing in front of him, he had to listen to her apology, which she made with a very red-face. Ron had sneered at her in disgust, and Harry was tempted to agree, but the apology seemed to be genuine, and at least she was making the effort. Macmillan was nowhere to be seen. As she left, stuttering her thanks, Harry called after her.

"How are Carter and Pechorin?"

Susan stopped dead, her shoulders tense. She turned back to them, plastering an innocent expression on her face.

"They're fine I think. I don't really hang round with them though, not my idea of a friend at all…"

Harry smiled grimly. Her lie was obvious; she knew precisely why he was asking about them, and was trying to seem uninvolved. But he said nothing, just nodded and walked away.

By lunchtime, rumours were flying around the school with surprising speed. People had noticed that Ginny was absent, despite the Gryffindor's unspoken vow of silence about the matter, and her friends and family were being inundated with questions. They were unanimously met with silence at best, anger at worst. As if that wasn't enough to spark up the rumour mill, Umbridge and her Aurors had been taking over classes, questioning students vigorously. Apparently all the staff had already been checked, to no avail. As a result, there was a distinctly nervous atmosphere over the school.

Reminded of his encounter with the Undersecretary, Harry recounted his experience to his friends. The news that she had been trying to paint Ginny as a Dark witch did wonders for Ron's complexion; he was glowing a positively disturbing shade of red. Hermione was angry as well, so angry that she didn't even reprimand Ron for his language.

As it turned out, they were able to experience her first hand; Umbridge and the Aurors turned up to Charms that afternoon, much to Flitwick's irritation. Since he had already been questioned in the Hospital Wing, Harry was excused, and, lacking anything else to do, he wandered off to the Hospital Wing to see if Ginny was awake.

She was. She was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, a miserable expression on her face. She looked up as Harry approached, and a nervous smile flashed briefly across her face. Harry flopped down into a chair next to her bed and grinned at her.

"Still lying around? I'd have thought you could have shaken this off fairly easily – you're supposed to be the feisty one!"

Ginny's lips twitched, but she said nothing.

"Right… Well, you'll be pleased to know that no-one's saying anything about your… accident. Of course, people have noticed you aren't around and are putting two and two together, but the twins are getting them to be quiet, so don't worry."

She still said nothing. Harry stared at her, and made up his mind. Desperate times and all that…

"So. Are you actually now incapable of speech, or are you just embarrassed about something?"

That got a reaction. Not a verbal one admittedly, but her sharp glare and attempt to throw her pillow at him went some way towards showing she was still alive.

"Well what do you expect? The last few years, you've never been too shy or upset to speak to me; even when you're upset you say what's wrong. So talk to me now; I'm your friend Ginny!"

"I put the Cruciatus curse on you!"

There was silence in the ward. Ginny rolled over on her side, too ashamed to even look at him. Harry sighed heavily.

"You didn't you know. It wasn't you. Have they told you what they found where they found you?"

Nothing. He shrugged and carried on.

"Another message, basically declaring open war. And it was signed Voldemort."

Ginny stiffened at the name, but gave no other reaction. Harry guessed that she had already heard this, but didn't want to speak to tell him to stop. So he carried on.

"You were possessed by Voldemort. It wasn't your fault, he took over your mind. How were you supposed to stand up to that? He's one of the most powerful wizards ever, and you're a first year. What were you supposed to do? And I felt the power in that diary, it was incredible. I reckon you'd have to be as powerful as Dumbledore not to be affected somehow. So it wasn't you. Not really, just someone using your magic. And that's awful, but it isn't your fault, I swear."

He fell silent, watching her carefully. Her shoulders were shaking slightly, and she was breathing heavily, in bursts. He reached out and clasped her shoulder tightly.

"I killed him."

Harry sighed again.

"No you didn't. Like I said, it was Voldemort, using you. You had no control, you'd never do anything like that. You're too good a person."

"That's not what _she _thinks."

"She? Who do you mean?"

"That woman from the Ministry. Umbridge."

There was a crack from the other side of the room. Harry jumped guiltily, before scurrying over to grab the potion vial that his magic had broken. He sat down on the other side of her bed, flushing in embarrassment and anger, grabbing her hand to stop her rolling over again. Her eyes were sparkling with tears, but she met his gaze steadily. He spoke carefully, seriously.

"Umbridge is a bitch Ginny. She's a fanatic, obsessed with the light. She even gives a blessing at the end of each conversation she's so obsessed. Of course she thinks you're a Dark witch; by her standards, so's Dumbledore, so you're in good company."

Ginny smiled for the first time.

"Just ignore her. She doesn't know what she's talking about. You were possessed, it wasn't your fault, and I'll spend the rest of my life shouting that in your ear if that's what I have to do to get you to realise it. You're a good person, and you are my friend."

She was crying again, but not from sorrow or shame this time he thought. He pulled her forward into a hug, and she clung to him, sobbing into his shoulder.

* * *

Despite the gruesome message, the Heir remained quiet in the weeks leading up to Easter. There were more Aurors now, in response to the last message, and they were patrolling the school at all hours. It was entirely possible that wherever the shade of Voldemort was, it was too scared to do anything.

Ginny left the Hospital Wing at the end of February, much improved in mind and spirit. After her conversation with Harry, she had accepted that she had been powerless, and changed her feelings into anger rather than shame. Her reappearance had attracted much comment, not all of it pleasant. Of course, anyone insulting her openly attracted comment themselves soon after, courtesy of whatever the Weasley twins thought up to pay them back. It was generally highly embarrassing; the highlight was a fourth year Slytherin who turned up at lunch bright pink and fervently proclaiming his love for Snape. Harry and Ron dealt with a few people as well, rather more directly than the twins, although they took greater pains to ensure that they couldn't be linked.

It was useful practice for Harry, who was studying hard for something outside class, much to Hermione's astonishment. He wouldn't say what it was, but Neville had seen him practicing curses, and they were well aware that the matter of Carter and Pechorin hadn't been resolved as yet. Many of the Hufflepuffs had apologised to Harry now, but Macmillan and the two beaters were still holding their silence. Of course, given what Carter and Pechorin had done, Harry likely wouldn't have accepted an apology anyway.

By the final week of term, Harry had collected a fairly impressive range of spells. He was by no means a master duellist, but he felt confident enough to finally tackle the older Hufflepuffs.

Hufflepuff had Quidditch practice on a Tuesday, and Harry picked that evening to take his revenge. About six, he collected his Invisibility Cloak and snuck down to the pitch. It was disgracefully easy to avoid the Aurors he passed, and once he left the castle there was no-one to see him until he got to the pitch. The team was still practicing when he arrived, so he settled in to wait.

Half an hour later, they finally packed up. Harry watched them put the balls away, Carter and Pechorin struggling with the bludgers. He grinned as one of them got away, smacking Carter in the chest. It was caught again easily enough, but it did hold them up. They seemed to have fallen out of favour; most of the team left without them, but Diggory stayed behind to lock up after them. It was perfect.

Harry stepped away from his bench, removing the Cloak and putting it in his robes. Diggory looked up, and frowned. However, he said nothing, merely folding his arms in disapproval. Harry took a couple of steps forward, and called their names.

They looked up in confusion, and did not look happy to see him standing there. Pechorin stood up slowly, drawing his wand as he did so. Harry let him. The whole point of this was for him to be in the right. Well, as far as one could be when preparing to engage in a duel that would get them all expelled if they were caught. He wanted to prove that he was better than them as well as get his revenge. Encouraged by his friends success, Carter hurriedly drew his own wand. When it was in his hand, a slightly scary look appeared on his face. Harry recognised it for what it was; Carter was potentially dangerous, someone who liked to fight. Pechorin was icily calm, as if Harry was nothing to worry about.

The three wizards stared at each other for a long moment. Then Harry spoke.

"Aren't you even going to _try _and apologise? You could have killed me."

Pechorin sneered.

"We were just doing what we thought was right. No shame in that."

"Even though you weren't right."

"Details."

Harry was impressed, he had to admit. Pechorin was clearly so much of a Slytherin that he had managed to convince the Sorting Hat to hide him in a different house. That was the only explanation for a Hufflepuff being so totally without morals. It was going to be a pleasure to pound Pechorin into the ground. Carter was beginning to pant slightly in anticipation.

Harry shrugged.

"Fair enough."

And he threw himself forward into a crouch, ducking beneath Pechorin's curse. He felt it ruffle his hair as he aimed his wand, crying out a spell. A flock of birds flew out of the end of his wand, and with a cry of _'oppugno!'_ Pechorin's head was obscured by them. Harry turned his attention to Carter just in time to drop to the ground once more.

Harry fired off two rapid _'Flipendo' _jinxes, and was rewarded by a cry of pain from Carter, who stumbled back, falling to the ground. Harry moved into finish him off, the spell on his lips when Pechorin finally dispelled the birds. Harry dived to avoid what sounded scarily like a Severing curse, and swore as his opponent sent a stream of fire at him. It licked at his robes, but they didn't even begin to smoke. Pechorin clearly wasn't that powerful. He heard Diggory cry out from the sidelines in shock, but concentrated on his own spell. It flew through the flames, which abruptly stopped as Pechorin cast a Shield charm. Fortunately for Harry, the spell bounced off into the night sky. Beginning to breath heavily, Harry cast the same spell that Ron had tried to use against Nott; he was rewarded by the sound of Pechorin beginning to vomit.

Harry grinned in triumph, only to cry out as he was suddenly dragged up into the air by an unheard spell from Carter. He almost dropped his wand, but managed to keep hold of it, firing off spells in all directions. He heard Carter swear foully, and he dropped from the air, landing with a painful twinge in his leg. He stood up, and whirled on his heel, sending a Blasting curse at Carter, who was staggering to his feet, his nose bleeding. The older boy cried out in pain as it struck his leg, shattering several bones by the sound of it, and he sank to the floor once again.

Harry turned back to Pechorin, his chest heaving. He was expecting to have to dodge another curse. Instead, Pechorin paused, and actually bowed to Harry, acknowledging him as a worthy opponent. Caught off guard, Harry missed the volley of stinging hexes that struck him across the chest. He swore in pain, and retaliated with a Levitation charm; Pechorin yelled in surprise as he floated in the air. Then Harry cancelled the spell, and his opponent had to worry about controlling his descent. The moment he hit the floor, Harry hit him with a Disarming charm, grabbing Pechorin's wand from the air.

The Hufflepuff looked up at him from the floor with an air of grudging respect, breathing heavily and clearly a little irritated at having been beaten.

"So what now Potter? You go round bragging about your little victory while we hide in shame?"

Harry shook his head.

"Perhaps you don't recall what happened to me. I've paid Carter back in full, just you now."

Pechorin looked at his friend in confusion, but his expression cleared when he saw Carter's broken leg.

"Ah. Tit for tat eh?"

"Yes. _Reducto!_"

Pechorin cried out as his arm broke, both boys now sporting the same injuries as Harry had received in the match. Harry holstered his wand, throwing the Hufflepuff's wands to Cedric. He turned back to Pechorin.

"One question. What did you do to the Bludger?"

"Nothing; we put a tracking charm on your robes instead. Slightly less obvious we felt."

Harry nodded, pleased to have cleared it up. He nodded to Cedric, and walked back up to the castle, a huge, satisfied smile on his face.

* * *

Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated. 


	17. Hagrid's Confession

**Chapter 15: Hagrid's Confession**

The Easter holidays passed swiftly. Harry had told no-one at school about his duel with Carter and Pechorin, although his friends had worked it out the moment they heard that the Hufflepuff beaters had ended up in the Hospital Wing. Draco was the only one to say anything, congratulating him on his victory with a malicious grin; he had a definite vindictive streak sometimes. At home though, he had told Dudley all about it, his cousin listening in delight. Sirius also knew, although not because Harry had told him; he hadn't been able to heal the wounds Pechorin had left him with, and his pain had been noticeable when he was running around with his godfather. To say that Sirius had been proud of him was something of an understatement. He was positively joyous that Harry had taken such a step. Harry wasn't entirely certain why, but he wasn't going to complain. The truth was, Sirius had been acting rather strangely all holiday; he was very jumpy indeed. Harry assumed it was to do with the fact that Voldemort seemed to be behind the attacks at Hogwarts, something he had not been able to conceal from his family.

Harry was more concerned about the possibility that the school would not be open for the final term. There had been several articles in the _Prophet _concerning the attacks at the school, and Draco had sent him a letter telling him that the Board of Governors had expressed doubts about the way Dumbledore had handled everything. Lucius Malfoy was apparently supporting Dumbledore, although probably only because, in all honesty, who else could do a better job?

However, Dumbledore was still there at the start of term feast, looking as confident as ever. It had to be said, the feast lacked the usual jovial atmosphere; people seemed to expect something would happen.

They were right.

Once everyone had finished eating, Dumbledore stood up to welcome everyone back and make a few announcements. He wasn't saying anything particularly exciting, and Harry's attention began to wander. He ended up looking at the ceiling. It seemed to be shimmering for some reason. He nudged Hermione, who followed his gaze. The shimmering began to increase until it was creating shadows on the walls, drawing further attention. Dumbledore trailed off, staring at the ceiling himself. Murmurs of confusion began to spread across the hall, and then, when everyone was staring, the shimmering stopped. The Unnoticeable Charm collapsed, revealing the slowly spinning bodies of several Aurors. It was clear that they had not died peacefully. Above them floated a shining green skull with a snake poking out, like a tongue. The Dark Mark.

People began to scream as the staff surged away from the top table. The prefects began to usher the younger students out, but Harry lagged behind. He watched in horror as Dumbledore raised his wand to remove, or at least hide the gruesome spectacle. The moment he cast his spell though, the bodies burst into flame. The Aurors were reduced to skeletons within seconds, and then the bones began to move. They were spelling out another message.

_**These fools thought to stop me; they learnt the hard way that it is impossible. But I am a reasonable man; remove the Mudbloods and I shall spare the rest. If there are any Mudbloods left in the school by the end of the week, then everyone shall become an acceptable target. **_

As the message finished forming, one of the skulls floated to the end, and a bone was transfigured into a snake, poking out of its open mouth in the manner of the Dark Mark. Harry read the message again, and then left the hall, grabbing Hermione by the arm. He was suddenly much more worried than he had been.

* * *

The first week of term was not a happy one. It was marked by several nasty attacks on Muggleborn students, fuelled by fear, and not just from Slytherin students, where Muggleborn prejudice was pretty much expected. Several younger students ended up in the Hospital Wing, and several Purebloods and Halfbloods ended up being suspended in disgrace. It was a bad time to be at Hogwarts. The worst thing was that nobody seemed to be able to do anything. It wasn't unusual to see staff members conversing nervously, hands in their robes ready to draw their wands at a moments notice. All classes were escorted between lessons and back to their common rooms. Dumbledore hadn't been seen at meals for a few days, and Draco had told Harry in Defence that the governors were engaging in a series of emergency meetings at the request of the Minister.

However, the day to day grind of schoolwork continued, more or less as normal. Much to Harry's disgust, exams were still going to happen; quite how they were supposed to worry about studying when there was a constant threat of being killed he didn't know. Hermione was predictably delighted though.

Saturday arrived, and it was appropriately gloomy; the whole school was on tenterhooks waiting to see what the Heir would do about the continued presence of Muggleborns in the school. However, it came and went with nothing out of the ordinary happening. It was, as Fred put it, something of an anti-climax. Umbridge looked very pleased with herself that evening, as if it was solely down to her that nothing had happened. She seemed to have forgotten that the vast majority of her Auror team had been butchered only a few days ago, which did nothing for Harry's opinion of her.

On Sunday, Harry and his friends were working in the library. Hermione was desperate to try and work out the secret of the Chamber; she felt that would explain everything. Privately, the others disagreed, but she had been greatly disturbed by the threat against Muggleborns – she hadn't told her parents, worried that they would take her out of school. Mr and Mrs Granger were devout Christians, and though they loved their daughter dearly, and would do anything for her, they weren't entirely comfortable with magic. Harry found it particularly ironic that she spent most of her free time during the summer camp her parents ran researching magic that directly contradicted most of their beliefs.

They had quickly exhausted several species of magical creature. Nothing seemed to fit the specifics of the victims. Their most promising theory was that it was some sort of snake, due to the link with Slytherin. This was Harry's particular favourite; it certainly explained the voice that no-one else could hear. He couldn't believe that he hadn't thought of it before. True, he'd had other things on his mind than his linguistic talent in recent weeks, but to have forgotten it entirely was frankly stupid. But there was no snake that Petrified its victims.

They were resuming their task after lunch when Hagrid arrived. He looked very out of place amongst the stacks of books, and he also looked nervous. He disappeared a few minutes later without saying anything to them; surprised, Harry and Ron followed him.

"Hagrid! What's up? You just ignored us – you aren't upset with us are you?"

"No! No, I'm jus' a bit stressed, tha's all 'Arry. Just got some new chickens, an' I'm puttin' up a ward to keep that git out this time. Dunno why he'd be bothered about some birds, not like their blood'd offend 'im is it?"

He tried to smile at them, but it was unconvincing. Harry tried again.

"What are you stressed about?"

Hagrid sighed, and walked off, beckoning them after him. Curious, the two friends followed him, all the way back to his hut in the grounds. He sat them down, pouring drinks, before beginning to explain.

"It's that Umbridge woman you see… She reckons tha' I've got summat to do with the attacks."

"What? Why the hell does she think that? It could be anyone, they know that!" Harry exclaimed.

"Yeah, I know… But – well, you know I was expelled? It was when the Chamber was las' opened. I got the blame for it you see."

There was silence in the hut, and Hagrid flushed slightly. When Harry regained the use of his voice, he had several questions.

"Why? Dumbledore told me he never believed that you were guilty. Well, he didn't say _you_¸ he just said that he trusted the 'alleged culprit'. And if they know who it was back then, how can they blame you now?"

"Dumbledore said that? That's real nice of him, real nice. Great man Dumbledore, great man. Yeah, back then I was – well, I was a little stupid. I had this pet you see, harmless, real interestin', but I was foun' with it after a girl died, and they blamed me. Like I'd hurt anyone! And Myrtle was ok, one o' the only ones who didn' make fun of me 'cause a'me height. Only 'cause of Dumbledore that I didn' go to Azkaban; he persuaded 'em that I hadn't mean' to hurt anyone, got me this job as well. But Umbridge says that the Heir might find it funny to use me again. And I don' think she likes me all that much to tell yer the truth."

"Why not?"

"'Cause of my mum. I'm half-giant, can't you tell?"

Ron's eyes widened, and he nearly blurted something out; thinking it likely it wouldn't be polite, Harry kicked him. He then shrugged at Hagrid.

"I guess it is kind of obvious when you think about it. But why does that matter?"

Hagrid smiled at him, and patted him on the head, nearly giving him a concussion.

"Ah, not everyone's as nice about halfbreeds as you are 'Arry. I reckon Umbridge don't like me 'cause of my blood, doesn't live up to her Light ideals."

Harry nodded grimly. That did sound likely. Not for the first time, he wondered how a woman like Umbridge had managed to get so high up in the Ministry. She was prejudiced, rude, and didn't seem to have any experience in law enforcement, which begged the question why was she in charge of this investigation?

"Who was it who caught you?" said Ron

"He didn' _catch_ me, he framed me! An' his name was Riddle – Tom Riddle I think."

"Riddle… I know that name. Did he win an award for something? I'm sure I've heard it somewhere…"

"It was that trophy you vomited slugs over; you said then you found it hard to remember."

"Oh yeah. Weird that."

"Hm. He won tha' trophy for turnin' me in. Evil little git. He didn' get Aragog though!"

Harry and Ron shared a glance.

"Aragog?"

"The pet I had. An Acromantula."

Their eyes widened in shock – and in Ron's case, not a small amount of fear. He hated spiders with a passion. For his part, Harry couldn't believe that Hagrid had kept an Acromantula in the school… actually, he could, no problem. Hagrid was a little different when it came to classifying 'dangerous'. They whiled away another half hour or so trying to cheer Hagrid up, before he insisted on taking them back. Harry personally thought that they were perfectly safe in the grounds, but Hagrid was taking no chances.

There was a curious lack of activity when they reached the school; despite the general air of fear, there would normally be groups of people hanging around. The school seemed deserted. It was totally silent. Hagrid cleared his throat nervously.

"Come on, I'd better get you up to the common room. Don't wan' you walking aroun' on yer own."

Again, they met no-one on the way upstairs. At least, until they reached the fourth floor. Umbridge was coming down the stairs, a gleeful expression on her face, followed by McGonagall, who was shouting at the toad-like woman.

"- had nothing to do with it! You have _no _evidence!"

"My dear Professor, I would not try to arrest anyone without firm evidence – ah… Good afternoon Hagrid, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley."

McGonagall hurried past the other woman.

"Boys! Where have you been?"

"We went to see Hagrid Professor, but he took us there and back, we were fine –"

Umbridge interrupted.

"Rubeus Hagrid, you are under arrest, for involvement with the Heir of Slytherin. You will be taken to Azkaban to await trial."

Hagrid moaned in fear, and began to stutter incomprehensibly. Harry and Ron began to shout; Umbridge silenced all three of them by drawing her wand. McGonagall stepped forward to Hagrid, glaring at Umbridge in a terrifying fashion.

"Don't worry Hagrid, you'll be out before you know it. Dumbledore won't stand for this!"

Umbridge smirked unpleasantly.

"I wouldn't count on that Minerva. Dumbledore might be a little busy himself."

She turned to Hagrid. Aurors appeared, as if from nowhere, and began to bind Hagrid's hands.

"I don't really think you're actually attacking anyone Hagrid. But that diary had to come from somewhere, and I think that you can help us in that regard. Take him away!"

The Aurors dragged Hagrid backwards; he was beginning to cry, tears streaming down his face. Umbridge stood above him, radiating self-satisfaction. Harry tore away from McGonagall, leaning over the rail to watch Hagrid being taken away. He had never seen his large friend so vulnerable, and he hated Umbridge then, with all his heart.

"You had no right." He told her softly, unwilling to meet her eyes, to even look at her. He didn't need to. He could hear the smile in her voice.

"Of course I did Mr Potter. I do what I have to in order to ensure order; the Light always wins out Mr Potter. Always. Lux Aeternam."

She walked down the stairs after the Aurors, her head held high. Harry watched her go, before turning round again. McGonagall looked angry, but sad as well for some reason.

"What's wrong Professor?"

"I think that the two of you had better come with me."

* * *

McGonagall led the two of them into the Hospital Wing in silence. She had not spoken on the way there, and Harry and Ron had not wanted to speak, too busy conjuring dreadful images of what was wrong.

They hadn't expected anything like the truth though.

Hermione and Neville were lying on two beds, frozen stiff, looks of terror on their faces. Ron groaned, and sank into a chair beside them, his head in his hands. Harry reached out to Hermione, trying to brush her hair out of her face. Even that had turned solid under the power of the mysterious creature though. Her hands were raised in a defensive posture, as if to ward it off. He stared at his two Petrified friends in silence.

"They were attacked outside the library… there was no message; we don't think – whoever it is – had time to write one. This was next to Miss Granger, we wondered if you knew of any significance?"

She handed Ron a shattered mirror. Harry hadn't even known she carried one around with her, she'd never seemed to particularly care about her appearance even that much. He looked at Ron, who seemed equally puzzled. They both shook their heads, and turned back to their friends. McGonagall walked away, giving them some privacy. They both sat down, and Harry frowned. Because of her defensive posture, Hermione's hand was level with his eyes – and she was holding something. He pointed it out to Ron, who shifted, blocking Harry from view. Hermione's fist was clenched so tightly that the paper began to rip as Harry pulled at it. After a few seconds, he gave up, and drew his wand. He pressed the tip against the edge of the paper, and concentrated hard on a spell he had found a few weeks ago.

'_Duplicatus'_

There was a shimmer around Hermione's hand, and Harry focussed on forcing a replica to appear. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he grunted – and then a piece of paper appeared, floating down to the bed. Ron snatched at it, and his eyes widened.

"You've got to be bloody _kidding_!"

Harry took the paper from him, and felt the blood drain from his face as he read the title of the page:

Basilisk.

* * *

They were back in the common room, pouring over the sheet of paper. Sadly, Harry's spell hadn't worked entirely; the writing cut off mid-sentence. However, what information there was didn't seem to fit the facts. If the monster was a basilisk, it would explain the slaughter of Hagrid's roosters; their crowing was fatal to a basilisk. It would also explain the strange voice that Harry had been hearing; Ron seemed to have forgotten about that, but when Ginny realised they were considering snakes, she looked at Harry very pointedly. But there was nothing to say that a basilisk petrified its victims. It didn't need to stun its victims in order to feed, because anything that met its eyes dropped dead anyway.

All of a sudden, Professor McGonagall stepped through the portrait door, a slightly stunned look on her face, and a scroll in her hand. She cleared her throat for silence, and began to read.

"By order of the Governors of Hogwarts, in conjunction with the Ministry of Magic, Albus Dumbledore has been suspended as Headmaster of the school. Madame Delores Umbridge has been assigned the task of running the school until the Heir of Slytherin has been caught. She has introduced several new security measures; there will be Aurors at the main doors, and guarding the entrances to the common rooms at all times. No student will be allowed to travel without at least one fully qualified wizard or witch as escort. Food will be served directly to common rooms to minimise student exposure…"

McGonagall carried on for several minutes, explaining how they were sure to be safer under this new regime, and that the culprit would be caught within days. Harry couldn't help but notice that she didn't look very convinced, and her knuckles were white where she was gripping the parchment. As she finished, Ron turned to Harry, looking distraught.

"Dumbledore's gone? They might as well just hand out robes with huge targets on our backs! There'll be an attack a day!"

Depressing as it was, Harry couldn't help but agree.

* * *

Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated. 


	18. Kidnapped

**Chapter 16: Kidnapped**

As it turned out, Ron's prediction was a little on the pessimistic side. There were in fact no more attacks during the next fortnight. This was held up as a major success by Umbridge and the Aurors; Harry felt it more likely that the Heir of Slytherin was simply building up to something truly special. Of course, there was another theory. It had been introduced in Defence Against the Dark Arts, three days after Hermione and Neville had been attacked, after Hagrid had been arrested. Lockhart had bounded into the classroom, a delighted grin on his face. He had poured scorn on their suggestion that something was going to happen soon, claiming that in reality, Hagrid must have been behind everything. According to Lockhart, Hagrid must have given the diary to Ginny, then reclaimed it after her possession had been discovered. Now that he had been arrested, all that remained to be revealed was how he had enchanted the diary and where the Chamber was.

When he finished speaking, he had been forced to cancel the class; Harry's magic exploded once more, and the portraits around the room had caught fire.

Hogwarts had never seemed so awful to any of them. When the students weren't in lessons, they were restricted to their common rooms. Percy Weasley had tried to get them to look on the bright side by pointing out the amount of extra time they had to revise now, but that hadn't gone down well. Harry and Ron found it difficult enough to force themselves to revise anyway without Hermione's help; when two of their friends were lying in the Hospital Wing it was even further down their list of priorities.

There was one bright spot on the horizon. The Mandrake roots, which would be required to heal the students who had been Petrified, were nearly at full maturity; within a month the victims would be up and about once more. Harry had spent quite some time drawing up a list of questions for Hermione and Neville once they had been revived. Neither he nor Ron had quite convinced themselves that it really was a basilisk roaming the school, given the disparity between the facts and what had actually happened. But neither had they come up with any alternate theories. They weren't too dispirited by this; it was obvious that Umbridge and her Aurors didn't have a clue what they were searching for either, so two second years could hardly expect to solve the mystery. Harry had considered telling them about the voice, in case that would be of use, but given Umbridge's fanaticism she would probably have shut him up in Azkaban if she found out he was a Parselmouth.

It didn't really seem to have sunk in for the majority of students that Dumbledore had been suspended. Most of the time he was only seen at meals, and since they weren't eating in the Great Hall for the present it was hard to say that he was actually missed, by the student body at least. The teachers were another matter. Lockhart was the only one who had been seen with a smile on his face in the last fortnight, and even those staff members who weren't expected to be cheerful, such as Snape, seemed in even worse moods. Snape had in fact taken to largely ignoring his classes; he would sit at the front of the classroom, twirling his wand in what seemed to be a nervous twitch. Harry couldn't blame him. The Potions Master would not be a good person to be around if Dumbledore was permanently removed from his post and Voldemort was on the rise once more. Harry was surprised that Snape had stuck around this long; if he had been in Snape's position, he would have run the moment Dumbledore had gone. Harry supposed that Snape was trying to convince himself that Voldemort had nothing to do with it, that it was just a malicious joke. That was indeed the popular theory; that a Death Eater – or child of a Death Eater – was behind it. Ron was amongst these people, and had suggested Theodore Nott as a likely candidate. Draco had dismissed this the minute Ron had shared his theory; Nott was apparently fairly liberal as Purebloods went, with no particular feelings regarding Muggleborns either way.

While Ron had found this rather bizarre, it actually worried Harry. If Nott wasn't a stereotypical Pureblood, looking down on anyone outside their particular group, then why did he have such a problem with Harry? He could at least understand it in the case of someone like Julius Mulciber, a seventh year Slytherin. His father had ended up in Azkaban after the war, so his family was not exactly on Harry's Christmas card list. So what was Nott's problem?

* * *

Another week passed without incident. Harry and Ron were in the Hospital Wing, part of a group of students being escorted to visit their sick friends, whether Petrified or otherwise. They went everyday to sit with Hermione and Neville for an hour or so, taking work sometimes, other times just sitting there, talking quietly. Harry had on a couple of these visits tried to get the rest of the sheet of paper out of Hermione's fist, but without success.

That particular evening, they were sitting there with some Potions reading, hoping to perhaps absorb the knowledge from Hermione via osmosis, when Harry had the curious sensation of being watched. Given that he was in a room of living statues, it was a little disconcerting, not least because of the way he instantly recognised the feeling. Did people really spy on him so much that he could instantly recognise the feeling at only twelve years of age? He put his book down, looking around him. His lip curled in distaste. Ernie Macmillan was standing in the doorway to the private room for the Petrified, a flustered look on his face. The annoying Hufflepuff had said nothing to him since the holidays, apparently too scared to meet his eye. Harry wondered dispassionately if Pechorin and Carter had told the rest of their house what had happened to them, and at whose hands. Judging by his classmate's tense posture, they had shouted it from the rooftops.

Harry looked at him, trying to look aloof yet receptive. Behind him, he heard Ron put his own book down, and he knew that his friend was likely getting ready to grab his wand if necessary. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. If Ron was forced to duel over the Petrified bodies of their friends then Macmillan's injuries would be serious. Macmillan seemed to realise this himself; he held his hands up, open-palmed in the traditional gesture of submission.

"I'm not here to fight. I… I wanted to – to apologise to you Potter."

Harry quirked an eyebrow in amusement. This would be _fun_.

"Oh? What for Macmillan?"

"Well… You know…"

"Do you mean the way you've been slandering me? Accusing me of bigotry, of violent tendencies, mental instability, that kind of thing?"

"Well – well yes, I suppose so."

Harry snorted in amusement.

"Well, I must say you're doing a brilliant job of getting your sentiments across sincerely Macmillan. I might almost think that you're apologising out of fear more than genuine regret."

Macmillan's face, already flushed, turned a deeper shade of red. Harry turned his head, grinning at Ron. He didn't return it. Sighing, Harry turned back to the Hufflepuff.

"So what are you scared of Macmillan? Afraid I'll hurt you if you don't say sorry?"

"We have heard what you did to Jack and Joey, Potter. Did you think we wouldn't?"

Harry smirked, in what he hoped was a smug fashion. He would need to get lessons from Draco…

"Carter and Pechorin tried to kill me Macmillan. Slightly different to spreading malicious rumours about me you know. In all honesty, I really don't give a damn if you apologise or not, I'm sure I can get through life without seeing or speaking to you ever again if that's what you really want. But if you are going to apologise, at least have the decency to do it properly, especially if you're going to do it next to my friends." Harry let a hint of real anger show, trying to show Macmillan that he was being serious.

This time, it definitely worked. Macmillan swallowed audibly, with a nervous glance at Hermione and Neville. He looked back at Harry.

"I do mean it. I jumped to conclusions, and they were wrong. Cedric told us that you came to see Zach's body; that was… that was good of you. I know he was a little weird around you, so…"

He paused, running his fingers through his hair.

"Look Potter, I'm not very good at this."

"It shows." Ron muttered softly. Harry didn't think that Macmillan heard him fortunately.

"I just want you to know that I really am sorry about everything I said. And – I hope Granger and Longbottom are ok."

Harry looked him in the eye for a long moment, before nodding.

"Thank you. And I hope Justin is as well. He didn't deserve what happened to him."

Macmillan nodded fervently.

"None of them did, it's awful what's happened. I don't suppose… that you've got any idea what is _actually_ going on have you? I mean, one way or another you seem to know what's going on and get involved more than any other student!"

Harry smiled ruefully, the first time he could remember doing so in Macmillan's presence.

"I know Hagrid didn't have anything to do with it."

"We didn't think that he did. That Umbridge is a real idiot."

Harry and Ron both laughed, rather bitterly.

"That's more true than you know Macmillan."

Macmillan remained for a few more minutes, trying – and succeeding largely – to make himself pleasant. Harry was fine with this – he had worked off most of his frustration with his doubters with his duel – but Ron was a little less warm. Still, the Weasley temper was famous for a reason. Harry was just pleased that he wasn't being openly rude. Once Macmillan left to go and sit with Justin, Ron rounded on Harry.

"So you did duel them. How come you didn't ask for help?"

"Ron, the whole point was to show them that I wasn't afraid of them. How could I do that if you guys were helping me out? Besides, they weren't that good; you'd just have ended up watching."

"That would have been fun though" Ron commented, a slightly sour look on his face.

"Well, I'm sorry ok. Next time I decide to go and curse some older students I'll take you along. I can use you as a shield at least." Harry said with a grin.

Ron frowned at him, before throwing some screwed up paper at him with a grin.

* * *

Yet another week passed without incident. Feeling in the school was split between relief and puzzlement. With only a few weeks of the term left, it was beginning to look as if there would be no more attacks before the summer – or at least, no more fatalities. Harry was sitting by the window in the common room, looking wistfully at the Quidditch pitch. No-one was allowed to go down to them, and that day especially it was a shame. There was barely a cloud in the sky, and the sun was blazing down. It would have been great to have indulged in some flying to relieve his stress.

As he sat there, his attention caught by a pair of birds flitting in and around the castles towers, the portrait door opened, and Ginny almost staggered in, a weary expression on her face. She had been having mental healing sessions with Dumbledore before the Headmaster's suspension, in order to restore the memories that had been fractured when she had been released from her possession. During Dumbledore's absence, the sessions were being held with Professor Snape, and although she was still getting better, she was always in a bad state for about an hour afterwards. Snape was anything but gentle with her.

Harry waved his hand in greeting, and she came over, joining him on the window seat. He listened to her rant about Snape, only half paying attention, his mind still on other things, occasionally nodding in agreement. Then she said something that brought him back to reality with a jerk.

"It's weird though. I can't remember ever going into Myrtle's bathroom."

"Myrtle's bathroom? Who's that?"

"Moaning Myrtle. She's a ghost, she haunts a bathroom on the second floor. The one where… where Mrs Norris was attacked."

Ginny fell silent for a moment, and Harry squeezed her hand, attempting to comfort her. She smiled briefly.

"I suppose I must have gone in there on Halloween, when he was in control. She certainly looked scared."

She still looked miserable, so Harry attempted to inject some humour into the conversation.

"I think I've met Myrtle, at Nick's Deathday party. She was so _miserable_! And, it has to be said, more than a little weird. Of all the places to haunt…"

He carried on in the same vein, until Ginny began to smile once more, and join in. This occupied them for a while, leading onto other safe topics. By the time they all went to bed that evening, Harry had more or less forgotten the conversation.

* * *

The next day, disaster struck.

Harry and Ron were in the Hospital Wing again, watching Madame Pomfrey administer the preliminary dose of the Mandrake potion. It would be too dangerous to reverse the Petrification all at once, so it would be done in stages throughout the day. Friends of the Petrified students had been given permission to miss lessons if they wished, and Harry and Ron had jumped at the chance. This wasn't so much to do with a desire to see Hermione and Neville getting better, although they wanted that very much. However, they were very interested in seeing if they would be able to get the scrap of paper out of Hermione's hand to see if there was anything they had missed concerning basilisks. They had been through other books when they were able, but had discovered nothing.

They watched Madame Pomfrey tip the potion down their friend's throats with bated breath. There was little change in Neville's posture, but Hermione's arms sagged slightly as her condition abated. They were unable to suppress mutual whoops of excitement, much to the Medi-Witch's annoyance. As she went over to Justin, Harry scurried over to Hermione's side. He tried to withdraw the paper once more – and this time it slipped out with ease, her fingers having relaxed somewhat. Harry stuffed it in his pocket as the Auror who was escorting them came over, ushering them back to the common room for their lunch.

Once they were safely back, they huddled in a corner, poring over the paper in anticipation. Much of it was information that they already knew, but there were two hand-written words, in Hermione's easily recognisable handwriting: _Pipes _and _mirror_.

The two of them looked at each other in confusion. What was that supposed to mean? Harry stared at the paper, and an idea began to form in his head. He took a piece of parchment from his bag, and was just about to begin writing when Professor McGonagall's voice echoed around the room, magically amplified.

_All students are to be escorted to their common rooms immediately. All teachers and Aurors to the staff-room once all students have been accounted for. Immediately please._

Harry stared at his friend in shock, an ice-cold bolt of terror shooting down his spine. Had the Heir struck again? He sat there, unable to write, silently awaiting confirmation.

It wasn't long in coming. McGonagall came into the common room, followed by Umbridge, who was looking uncharacteristically worried. The professor gathered Ron and his brothers, before leading them out of the common room. Watching them leave, Harry came to a realisation.

He hadn't seen Ginny all day.

* * *

Ron confirmed his worry when he returned. Ginny's bag had been found underneath another message: _She will lie in the Chamber forever._ She hadn't just been attacked. She had been kidnapped. And given that no-one knew where the Chamber was, or how to get into it, the chances of her being rescued were almost zero. At this Ron laughed bitterly. Lockhart was apparently lending his expertise to the investigation; Umbridge was quite the fan.

Shortly after, all four Weasley's were summoned to see their parents, who had just arrived. Harry sat in silence for some length of time, trying not to picture what might be happening to her. Then his idea returned. He started making a list of all the attacks. Zacharias he could discount; the Hufflepuff had fallen to his death. The slaughtered Aurors he also ignored; he didn't know enough about their injuries to be able to learn anything from them. But the others… Mrs Norris had been attacked outside that bathroom – and there had been a large pool of water. Justin had been with Nearly Headless Nick – which was a bit more uncertain. Hermione and Neville had been found with a mirror, which Hermione had apparently thought important. What if they had all seen only a reflection of the basilisk's gaze? Could it be possible that a reflection would dilute the power, resulting in the victim being Petrified as opposed to killed?

Harry stared at his list, his heart thumping. He must be right, there was no other explanation. What about the pipes though? The realisation struck him like an arrow; a snake could fit into the pipes around the castle easily, and it would explain why no-one had ever seen it.

And then the final piece of the puzzle fell into place. Ginny had remembered Moaning Myrtle being scared of her – but the only time she knew of that she had been in that bathroom was at Halloween. Which was, as far as Harry knew, the only time that Myrtle had left the bathroom, to go to the Deathday party; Ginny couldn't have seen her then. It therefore followed that she must have been to the bathroom on some other occasion – and if, as she had said, Hermione had warned her away due to Myrtle's presence, then it must have been when the Heir had been in control.

Harry almost yelled in triumph when he remembered what Hagrid had said: '_a girl died, and they blamed me. Like I'd hurt anyone! And Myrtle was ok, one o' the only ones who didn' make fun of me 'cause a'me height.' _It must be the same Myrtle, it had to be!

Two attacks in the same location had to be more than coincidence, surely? The probability of it, given the size of the castle, was a million to one. Harry needed to tell someone – Lockhart! He was leading the investigation now, and even if he personally was an idiot, the Aurors would surely listen to him. His exultation dimmed slightly as he realised something else; he would probably need to be there to open the Chamber – how else would you get in there if you weren't a Parselmouth?

Harry pocketed the list and, grabbing his invisibility cloak from his trunk, left the tower. The Auror guard had been withdrawn to search the castle, so his exit went un-noticed. The route to Lockhart's office on the third floor was mercifully empty. He listened as he walked up to the office door. Yes, Lockhart was definitely in there. He took his cloak off, and knocked on the door. Silence fell from the other side of the door, followed by a call of "Come in!"

Harry pushed the door open, and stopped in surprise. Far from leading a frantic investigation, Lockhart was sitting down with a glass of firewhiskey. His eyes widened in surprise at Harry's appearance, and he beckoned him in.

"And what can I do for you Mr Potter?"

How could the man be so calm? Harry pushed his dislike of the man deep down inside himself, and stepped forward.

"I wanted to talk to you about the Chamber sir. Here…"

And he gave Lockhart the list he had made, explaining his theory. Lockhart sat very still as Harry spoke, absorbing everything that was said. When Harry had finished speaking, Lockhart stood up abruptly.

"Well Harry, I must say, that sounds very likely indeed! Let's get you back, and I'll head down to this bathroom and see what's what eh?"

Harry winced. This would be the difficult bit.

"Actually sir… I think I might need to come with you. You see, I don't think you'll be able to get into the Chamber without me."

"Oh? And why's that?"

"Because I'm a Parselmouth."

Silence fell across the office once more. Lockhart stared at Harry incredulously, and Harry waited nervously for his reaction.

"Well… Well that is extraordinary Harry! Yes, very well, I suppose you'd better come with me then."

Lockhart began to walk out of the office, when Harry called him back in confusion.

"Shouldn't we get the Aurors professor?"

"They're in different parts of the castle Harry. Let's see if your theory is right, then we'll get hold of them ok?"

Harry nodded, before joining the professor. They walked in silence down the stairs, before walking into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom in some trepidation. Sure enough, she was there, hovering above the sinks. Harry called to her.

"Myrtle!"

The bespectacled ghost looked up, before floating down to him.

"What is it? You shouldn't be in here, you're a boy!"

"Yes, my name's Harry – we met at Nick's Deathday party remember?"

Myrtle frowned, then nodded.

"I wanted to ask you something; about how you died?"

Myrtle smiled brightly, much to his surprise.

"Oh, it was awful! Olive Hornby had been bullying me – she was such a foul girl – so I was in here, crying to myself, when I heard this noise. It was a man – or a boy I suppose – and he was hissing something! Well, I came out of my toilet to tell him to go away, but all I could see where these eyes – huge, golden eyes. And then, I was dead."

"Just like that?"

"Yes, just like that! Do you think I don't remember how I died?"

"Yes, of course, sorry about that… Whereabouts was the hissing Myrtle?"

"Oh, it was somewhere over there."

And she pointed at the sinks. Harry hurried over, examining them frantically. Behind him, he heard Myrtle gasp at something. Looking up, he realised Lockhart had moved into the light. Myrtle had disappeared; it must have been a shock having two men in her bathroom. He turned back to the sinks – and cried out in triumph as he saw the small carving on one of the taps. It was a snake.

He took a step back, and, concentrating on the image, spoke to it.

"_Open."_

The room rumbled, and the sinks began to split apart, revealing a dark tunnel that went practically straight down. Harry turned to Lockhart in triumph – but the professor looked more amused than anything else.

"Well done Harry. Well done indeed. Of course, I knew you were a clever lad."

Lockhart stepped further forward into the light, revealing the sinister red glow in his eyes. Harry swore, going to draw his wand, but Lockhart was already casting, his spell leaving Harry unconscious before he had hit the floor.

* * *

Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated. 


	19. That Old Serpent

**Chapter 17: 'That old serpent, which deceiveth the whole world'**

'_For books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny they are… He who destroys a good book destroys reason itself'_

John Milton, _Areopagitica _(1644)

* * *

Harry's eyes flickered open slowly. He could hear the sound of water dripping somewhere. Was he still in the bathroom? No, it hadn't been this cold, even with Myrtle's ghostly presence. He moved his eyes from side to side, trying to take in his surroundings without giving away that he was awake. He could tell that he was lying on a stone floor, somewhere dark. The ceiling was hard to make out, rising high over him. He could just see the foot of a statue to his left. And to his right, a figure slumped against a rock, with blazing red hair.

"Don't worry Potter. She's still alive. For now at least…"

Harry stiffened, and sat up, his pretence abandoned. Lockhart – no, the Heir, Voldemort, whatever was possessing him – was lounging against the statue, twirling his wand with a malicious smile. In his other hand, he held Harry's wand. His red eyes blazed in the darkness, but even they were not as attention grabbing as the statue he was leaning against. Harry recognized it from portraits now; Salazar Slytherin. They must be in the Chamber of Secrets then. The statue rose above them, nearly twenty feet tall. Slytherin was posing impressively, a stern look on his monkey like face.

"Impressive isn't it?"

Harry's gaze was drawn back to Lockhart. The red eyes seemed to have a hypnotic effect on him, and he could not look away. It was a sensation eerily similar to some of his conversations with Zacharias Smith, and a familiar sense of anger coiled in his gut.

"My distant ancestor you know." Lockhart carried on in a conversational tone. "When I arrived at Hogwarts, I was unaware of my proud heritage; the moment I found out though I was determined to carry on Slytherin's noble work."

"Who are you?" Harry cut in.

The red eyes flickered in annoyance, but he replied easily enough.

"My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle; or as the world would later know me –"

"Lord Voldemort" Harry breathed.

Lockhart – Riddle – gave a mock bow.

"The pleasure is all mine I assure you Harry."

"Don't call me that."

Riddle blinked.

"What did you say?"

"I said, don't call me Harry. You don't have the right." Harry almost snarled in his anger.

Riddle narrowed his eyes, and for a moment Lockhart's face was distorted by one of the ugliest expressions Harry had ever seen. He clenched his fists, waiting for a curse, but none came. Instead, Riddle shook his head, a small smile appearing.

"Harry, Harry, I would be slightly more polite to the only person in here with a wand. Or perhaps you don't care what happens to Miss Weasley?"

At the reminder that Ginny was there, Harry spun around, running to her frantically. She was unconscious, her skin cold and pale. But there was a pulse. A very faint pulse, but it was there. He stared at her, desperately trying to think up a plan to get her out of there, but Riddle spoke again.

"She really did lead a very _boring_ life you know Harry. Fortunately her mind was weak; she didn't even need to write to me before I could set up home inside her head."

Harry turned round, still clutching Ginny tightly to him, glaring daggers at Riddle, who smiled in amusement.

"The moment little Ginny picked up my diary I was able to read her mind, and within a week I could take full control of her whenever I pleased. Have you ever felt that kind of control over someone Harry? The knowledge that they have no will but to please you? It is the most… _intoxicating_ experience, I assure you. And once I was inside her mind, I could make her feed me… I know so much about her Harry, so much about her family… So much about _you_."

Harry said nothing. He could feel his nails puncturing the skin on his palms he was clenching his fists so tightly.

"As you can imagine, you were a source of great interest to me Harry… I wanted to know precisely what it is about you that brought me down."

"Well if you don't know then no-one ever will. No-one else was there that night."

Riddle laughed.

"Poor, stupid Harry. Do you think me the same as the Lord Voldemort who attacked you in Godric's Hollow? No, I am a memory of the boy who unleashed a basilisk on the Mudbloods at Hogwarts. I have lived in this diary –" and here he reached into his robes, removing the diary "– for fifty years. And then little Ginny Weasley picked me up, and I was free to leave once more. Free to find out about you, and what you did to my future self. And once you have told me everything you know – and I assure you Harry, you will tell me, screaming if necessary – then I will truly be the most powerful wizard in the world."

"No you won't."

"Is that right, little boy?"

"Yes. Dumbledore's the greatest wizard in the world, everyone knows that. You didn't dare attack him even when you were strong, and now you don't even have your own body!"

Riddle snarled, and slashed his wand down sharply. Harry fell to the floor, his face burning and dripping blood. He looked up at Riddle, for the first time feeling a pang of fear. But Riddle had mastered his emotions once more, and was looking composed again.

"A minor inconvenience… I know that my future self is out there somewhere you know, hungry for revenge… But I don't think that he need be disturbed. I will soon have so much control over this pathetic fraud that I can reshape his body completely."

Harry frowned in confusion.

"Oh, didn't you know? Gilderoy Lockhart, Wizarding hero extraordinaire, is a complete fraud. Everything in his books is the work of others that he takes credit for, following liberal applications of Memory charms. His skill with mental magic has actually been rather fortuitous. I may not have been able to avoid detection if he hadn't had so many shields in here. Still, there must be something about him. Ginny picked up my diary in his office, from a pile of fan-mail. One of my followers must have an almighty dislike of him to throw away my possessions like that, so it seemed only fair to return the diary to him when you discovered me."

Riddle began to pace, still watching Harry intently. Harry lowered Ginny to the floor gently, rising so that he could turn with Riddle, never letting him out of his sight. Riddle stared at Harry hungrily.

"So, to business. Tell me everything you know of that night in Godric's Hollow. The longer you talk, the longer you stay alive…"

Harry stared at him, trying to decide what to say. He couldn't really see what could be achieved by stringing it out – and if he made Riddle angry, then he might be able to get an advantage on him…

"Nobody knows why you lost your power that night. But I know why you couldn't touch me; my mother sacrificed her life for me – my common, Muggleborn mother!"

Riddle looked at him, and then threw his head back, laughing heavily.

"So that's it then. I should have guessed, it's a powerful counter-charm. And I was under the impression that there was something special about you. It really is quite astonishing you know… Both of us half-blood's, raised by Muggles, both Parselmouths – and I commend your success in keeping that a secret by the way – we even look something alike. But there isn't anything special about you at all. I almost wish Dumbledore were here now, he at least might provide a challenge – though I doubt it."

"Dumbledore would kick your arse!"

"Really? I notice he isn't rushing to your side… For the greatest wizard in the world, he was driven away rather successfully."

"He's not as gone as you might think."

Riddle frowned once more, and then a truly evil smile spread over his face.

"You've told me everything I wanted to know Harry. Now my pet can feed; he's been wanting to for so long…"

Riddle turned his back on Harry, looking up at the statue. He began to hiss, and Slytherin's mouth began to grind open. Harry knelt down, lifting Ginny onto his shoulders, and dashed over to a corner, concealing her as best he could. This done, he sprinted over to another corner to conceal himself. He crouched down as he heard something leathery slap against the stone floor, and he prayed that Riddle hadn't seen him. He shut his eyes tight as Riddle hissed once more.

"_Find him! Kill him, feast on his flesh, tear him to shreds!"_

_Help me_ Harry thought to himself frantically, _Someone, anyone, please!_

There was a tearing sound, the clang of metal on stone, and the beautiful sound of phoenix song over his head. Harry looked up to see Fawkes flapping above him before flying away. As Fawkes soared off, he heard the slithering die away; the basilisk was following the phoenix. Harry peeked round the statue he was crouching behind to see what was going on, ready to shut his eyes immediately. Riddle was screaming at the serpent, which seemed to be ignoring him. And about ten feet away form Harry was a long broadsword, lying on the floor. There was a strange light above it, shimmering as it faded away. Riddle wasn't looking at him; he burst out from his shelter, running to the sword.

His heart sank as he approached, and realised that it was actually almost as tall as he was. He would never be able to lift it! But in the absence of any other option, he tried anyway. He strained his muscles trying to pick it up, but to no avail. Then he fell backwards as it suddenly became lighter. Looking at it, he was astonished to find that it was now much shorter, and looked much lighter. He lifted it experimentally, and was both delighted and confused to find that it couldn't weigh more than his wand.

He stood up, the sword raised in a guard position, facing Riddle, who looked at him with a sneer.

"I highly doubt you can use a sword well enough to fight off a basilisk Potter."

Privately, Harry agreed with him. He'd been fencing since he was nine, but there was a world of difference between the sport and a fight for his life against a thirty foot long snake. But he was determined to go down fighting.

He took a step forward, and Riddle's eyes narrowed. He slashed the wand again, and before Harry had time to think about what was happening, the sword had moved to a quarte guard, blocking the spell with a ring. Harry gasped as something ran up the inside of his arms to his brain. He hadn't moved the sword, it had moved itself.

Suddenly the fight was looking much more winnable.

He stepped forward again, and again, extending the blade and darting into a lunge. The blade moved again, almost preternaturally fast, and nicked Riddle's arm. Riddle swore, retreating to a safer distance as Harry grinned. He stepped forward again, much more confident, and was actually able to swing the sword to a block of his own accord this time, although it moved twice more of its own accord, blocking the spells every time. Riddle paused, a flicker of fear travelling across his face, and Harry charged, extending the blade straight ahead of him.

Riddle howled as the blade punctured his arm, and Harry yelled in triumph as he tore the sword out of Riddle, blood streaming from the wound. More importantly, Riddle had dropped Harry's wand. Harry scooped it up quickly, but while his attention was distracted Riddle cast a spell, and Harry went flying, losing his grip on the sword. He looked up as Riddle went to grab the sword himself – but he then jerked back, staring at the wound in his arm in shock.

Where Harry had stabbed him, his arm was smoking.

Riddle staggered back, tearing the sleeve of his robe to examine his arm more closely. What was revealed sickened Harry. There was a white glow pouring out of Riddle's arm, and the arm was almost hanging off where he had ripped the sword out. The ragged edges of the wound were giving off a pale smoke, and none of Riddle's attempts to heal it worked. There was clearly something magical about the sword, and Harry was not going to let his opponent grab it. He staggered forward, sending spells flying at Riddle; they were all blocked with ease.

Just as he laid his fingers on the hilt, Riddle hit him with magic – not a spell, just raw power. Harry screamed as it burned him, his robes smoking and falling apart where it had hit him. He looked down at his chest and retched; there was a hole in his shirt, and his skin was blistered terribly, blood trickling from them as they burst. Riddle strode towards him, a look of purest hatred on his face, and grabbed him by the neck.

Then he recoiled, his hand slowly turning black. Harry managed a weak smile; his mother's protection was clearly still working. He dived for the sword, and swung it wildly; he heard Riddle curse as he clipped him with it. When he looked round, Riddle had an ugly scar across his face – with the same white light coming from the wound, the edges smoking as with the wound on his arm.

There came an awful hissing from the other side of the Chamber, and Harry risked a brief look. The basilisk was thrashing wildly, blood streaming down its face, and one golden eye punctured. It began to smash at pillars, trying to bring Fawkes out of the sky, but the phoenix was too agile. Harry paid for his inattention as Riddle cried out.

"_Perforatus!_"

Several shards of metal pierced Harry's body, and he screamed in pain. He fell to the floor, weak from his injuries, wand and sword falling to the floor. Riddle strode over to him, repeatedly casting a Whip curse in his fury, and scores of bloody lines appeared along Harry's back. Harry was sobbing in pain, but still trying to reach for his weapons. Then the phoenix song grew louder, and Riddle roared in pain. Harry looked up to see blood pouring from Riddle's face where Fawkes had clawed at him. He seized the opportunity, and the sword. His aim was true, and he pierced Riddle's chest.

The red eyes widened, and Riddle sank to his knees, his gaze not leaving Harry's. The red faded away, gradually being replaced by Lockhart's recognisable bright blue eyes. The defence professor began to stammer in shock.

"Potter! What – what's going on here? Where are we?"

"Professor, don't look up, don't!"

But it was too late. Lockhart had looked around him, and met the remaining eye of the basilisk. He screamed, but was cut off as his body stiffened, turning the colour of stone. Within seconds, he was a statue, but unlike those in the Hospital Wing, he would not be restored. The gaze of the basilisk had turned him to stone, including his internal organs. Harry spared his fallen teacher a moment's thought before staggering away, grabbing his wand and determinedly not looking at the serpent behind him.

A sudden idea came to him, and he began to hiss.

"_Your majesty! I beseech you, don't kill me!"_

The serpent paused.

"_You speak my tongue? Do not worry little one, I do not attack those who are Speakers. You may look on me without fear."_

Harry swallowed nervously, and turned round. He looked up at the basilisk, and sighed in relief when nothing happened. Behind the snake, Fawkes was flying around the pillars, out of sight.

"_Where is the bird that injured you your majesty?"_

"_I do not know, but I would give much to find out. Will you help me Speaker?"_

"_Of course; there it is!"_

The basilisk whirled, and snapped at Fawkes, who was still too high to be reached. When the basilisk turned away, Harry raised his wand, and muttered a spell, holding a specific image in his mind.

"_Serpensortia!_"

A long black snake fell from the tip of his wand; a black mamba, the most poisonous Muggle snake in existence. For good measure, Harry conjured another snake, this time a runespoor. He began to whisper to them, concentrating heavily. The basilisk was still distracted by Fawkes, and he raised his wand again, and muttered a levitation charm. The two snakes flew into the air, and Harry hovered them behind the basilisk's head.

Then he dropped them.

The basilisk hissed madly as they carried out Harry's orders, biting into the basilisk's remaining eye, puncturing it and filling it with venom. It began to thrash, knocking Harry to the ground, and shattering Lockhart's body into several pieces. He kept a tight grip on the sword, and swung it up as the basilisk's head lashed down to bite him, locating him by smell. The sword cut through the serpent's scales like butter, and it hissed once more. He stabbed the sword forward, and this time he punctured the back of its head.

The basilisk sagged to the floor, pulling the sword from Harry's arms, and it breathed its last.

Harry sank to the floor, chest heaving and sweat pouring from his face. The pain of his wounds, which had been dulled by adrenaline, came flooding back full force, and he doubled over, trying desperately to quash it sufficiently to get out of the Chamber. After a few moments, his magic began to kick in, healing some of his more minor wounds completely, and stopping the blood flow.

Standing up, he staggered over to Ginny, pulling her close once more. Her eyes were still closed, and if anything, she looked even worse than she had earlier. He shook her frantically, but she was totally unresponsive. He felt a pressure on his arm, and looked up. Fawkes had landed on his arm, and was looking at Ginny inquisitively. He hopped down from Harry's arm, landing on Ginny's chest, and he began to cry, large pearl like tears that glistened on Ginny's face.

But nothing happened. Fawkes wept over her for several minutes, and she would not wake up. Fawkes looked at Harry almost sorrowfully, and began to weep against his chest, healing the blisters and scorched skin where Riddle's magic had hit him. Harry felt his pain wash away, his strength returning, and he patted the phoenix's head in gratitude. Fawkes trilled an acknowledgment, then fluttered over to where Lockhart's body had been. Harry thought for a crazy moment that the phoenix was going to try and restore Lockhart to life, but he was wrong. Fawkes was nudging at something amidst Lockhart's ruined body. Harry walked over, and bent down.

It was the diary.

It seemed to gleam to Harry, and he reached down, ignoring Fawkes' sudden squawk, and picked it up. He went rigid as something streamed up his arm, and zapped into his mind. He collapsed once more.

* * *

_Harry was hovering in mid air. He looked around him in surprise; he was back at the Dursley's house. Home. How had that happened? He walked through the rooms, looking for his family, but they were nowhere to be found. As he approached the stairs, he became aware of a ringing, manic laughter. And then a familiar voice spoke._

"_Oh yes, this is _perfect!_ There's such power here Harry, if only you could use it. Don't worry, though, I shall have no trouble taking control of it. You should have given in and died when I gave you the chance Potter; now you get to sit in the back of your own head and watch as I tear the world apart using your body and magic!"_

_Harry charged up the stairs, but there was no-one there either. He looked around him frantically, the laughter echoing in his ears. There was only one place he hadn't looked. The under-stairs cupboard. Darting back downstairs, he ran to the door, and yanked it open._

_There was nothing. Literally. The door opened onto a vast emptiness, a silence that drowned out the laughter, and that seemed to call to him. He reached his arm out, and the nothing folded around his wrist, almost painfully. But the tips of his fingers were warm whereas his wrist was cold. He pushed his other arm in, Riddle forgotten, trying to tear the blackness away from whatever was on the other side._

_And then he heard an inrush of air behind him, and Riddle shoved him into the blackness. He fell, screaming at the painful cold all around his body, Riddle's cry of triumph fading away._

_And then he was through the nothing, and he was blinded by the light._

_

* * *

_

_Riddle watched as his youthful nemesis fell away, and shivered in satisfaction. There was enormous power behind the curtain of darkness, and if Harry ever breached the other side of the curtain, he would be swamped in it, unable to tear himself away from the wonder of his magic even if the thought ever occurred to him. Riddle however… Riddle could bypass the curtain, the barrier preventing Harry from accessing his full potential. It was darkness, just as he was – and if he wasn't totally mistaken, it was representative of his own magic. A remnant of their first encounter? _

_He reached into the darkness, glorying in the pain and cold, but still pushing his hand through it, trying to reach the magic beyond it, trying to bind it to himself. He felt warmth on his fingers, and then he recoiled, staring at his fingers in shock. They had turned black. He looked at the darkness again, and frowned. Small spots of light were appearing in it, barely noticeable, but still there. He reached out to touch one, and hissed as his skin blistered._

_He took a step back, thinking. He was desperately trying to remember everything that could hurt a shard of a soul, as he was. There were several things, but a large amount of raw magic was not one of them. Unless… No, that was impossible. Potter couldn't be… Could he?_

_He reached into the darkness again, trying to find proof for his theory. But he was thrown back, violently. He stared at the dark nothingness in shock as a voice echoed around the hall._

"_You are not welcome here. This is our domain. __**Get. Out. Of. His. Head!**__"_

_Riddle roared in anger as he was thrown from Potter's mind by some unseen force, a force that felt weirdly familiar, yet inherently different to anything he had ever felt before._

_

* * *

_

Harry came to, coughing violently. His magic… He couldn't describe it, but his worries of too much power had been dispelled. He didn't care any more, he just wanted to be able to feel like that again. It had been wondrous. A sudden snarl distracted him, and he looked up to see a flickering figure standing in front of him. He was dressed in Hogwarts robes, a Slytherin badge on the breast, with a head boy badge next to it. He looked frighteningly similar to Harry; tidier hair, much taller, and blue eyes, but there was a definite resemblance. Unless you counted the vicious snarl, the bared teeth, and the aggressive posture. Harry remembered what Riddle had said: _'We even look something alike…'_

So this was Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Harry grabbed his wand from the floor where he had dropped it, casting several spells in succession. They passed straight through Riddle's ghostly body. Riddle charged at him, trying to grab him, but his hand passed straight through Harry's arm. Harry yelped – it had been painfully cold – and dived for the sword. He swung it wildly, striking Riddle straight in the chest, but again, Riddle's body merely rippled around the blade.

They stood for a moment, not breaking eye contact, Harry breathing heavily. How could the deadlock be broken? And then Fawkes flew past, dropping something at Harry's feet.

The diary.

Riddle started forward, reaching out for it, but Harry placed his foot on it. He looked Riddle in the eye. He would have expected to feel happier about this, but his anger outweighed his relief.

"This is for Ginny. And for Zach. And one day, I'm going to find the real you, and do the same."

And he slashed the sword down, hitting the diary right on the spine.

Riddle screamed as the diary fell apart, his body jerking, distorting, and then a white light began to shine from under his skin. He reached out to Harry again, a wild look on his face. And then he just vanished, imploding with a rush of air. Harry stared in silence at the space where Riddle had been, unable to quite comprehend that the nightmare was over, when he heard a sharp gasp echo round the Chamber. He turned slowly, wincing as the pain rushed back once more, and limped over to where Ginny was slowly sitting up, rubbing her eyes. She looked blearily at Harry, and then her eyes widened in shock and she looked around in fear.

"Harry, we've got to get out – oh my god…"

She fell silent as she saw the corpse of the basilisk and the shattered remnants of Lockhart's body.

"Harry, what – what happened here? Where did you get a sword?"

"Lockhart – and Riddle – are dead; I'll explain everything later, I just want to get out of here. I don't suppose you can remember how can you? I didn't exactly come here willingly."

Ginny looked uncertain, but nodded, climbing to her feet. She stuck her arm out, offering Harry support, and he took it, too weary to refuse. Together, they walked slowly from the Chamber, not looking back at the remnants of the battle.

* * *

The title of the chapter is from Revelations, 12:9. The quotation in full is _'And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, who deceiveth the whole world'._ The epigraph is something I found in my course reading and, in addition to being a stirring criticism of censorship, seems very apt for this story, and this chapter in particular. Even if the diary isn't exactly a good book… 


	20. Good News and Bad News

**Chapter 18: Good News and Bad News**

Harry and Ginny rose to the top of the pipe, clutching tight to Fawkes' tail-feathers. The sinks parted once more with a creak, and they grinned at each other, reacting to the warm, cheery light of the castle. At the sound of the sinks, Myrtle's head appeared through a toilet door, and a downcast expression appeared on her face. Harry looked at her.

"What's wrong with you?"

"You're still alive. It gets so lonely around here; if you'd died you could have kept me company."

Harry blinked, stunned by this prospect, while Ginny shook with repressed laughter.

"Well, that's very… generous of you Myrtle. Thank you. I do have a question for you though. Did you see the sinks open before I went down there?"

"Oh yes, you hissed at them. Do people know that you're a Parselmouth?" Myrtle said, nodding furiously.

"No, they don't. That's why I'm asking; do you think you could keep it a secret for me?"

"Will you come and talk to me? You're the only one who's ever shown an interest in me you know."

Harry blinked once more.

"I – I suppose so, yes."

Myrtle beamed.

"Oh good! It'll be our little secret then Harry! See you soon!"

And with that, she disappeared once more, and there was the sound of water splashing. Harry had a disturbing idea that she was actually haunting a particular toilet, not just the bathroom. He shivered at the idea.

The two friends walked out of the bathroom, Ginny still sniggering at Myrtle's proposition, and they followed Fawkes, who had flown on ahead, guiding their way with a soft glow from his feathers. They eventually arrived at the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office, and Harry paused, looking at Ginny.

"What's wrong Harry?"

"Can you not tell anyone that I'm a Parselmouth? I don't want it getting out."

Ginny shrugged.

"I think Hermione probably knows, if she worked out about the basilisk. There was that voice you heard from time to time. Only a Parselmouth could have understood it. But don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

Harry smiled at her in gratitude, before looking at the gargoyle. He realised he didn't know the password, but Fawkes trilled at it before he could speak, and it moved aside. They climbed the spiral stairs to Dumbledore's office, and Harry knocked heavily.

The door opened smoothly, revealing the Weasley's, Dumbledore, McGonagall and Umbridge. Silence fell across the office at the sight of Harry and Ginny, covered in mud and blood, and in Harry's case, carrying a blood-stained sword. Then, all of a sudden, Umbridge started to babble, and Mr and Mrs Weasley flung themselves forward, sweeping Ginny into a huge hug. Harry grinned at Ron, who was staring, flabbergasted, at his friend, before walking to the desk, placing the sword and the diary down. Dumbledore was watching Fawkes, smiling fondly at the phoenix, but as the sword clinked against the wood, he turned to Harry, and the smile turned proud. Harry smiled back, but before he could speak, Mrs Weasley embraced him tightly, repeatedly stammering her thanks into his ear. Over her shoulder, Harry could see Mr Weasley, still holding Ginny tightly.

"Harry, I – thank you Harry, I don't – I don't know what to say to you. You saved her, you saved our Ginny! How in the name of Merlin and Morgana did you manage it?" he said, looking down at his daughter.

"I have to say Mr Potter, I am quite interested in that as well." Umbridge commented in sour tones.

So Harry told them; about Tom Riddle, about Hagrid mentioning Myrtle, about Hermione's theory of a basilisk and reflective surfaces, about working out that two attacks in the same place couldn't have been a coincidence, about going to the bathroom with Lockhart. At this point Umbridge broke in, her professional face falling away with evident interest.

"And err, where is Professor Lockhart now? I'm sure he played a significant role, we should acknowledge it."

Harry smiled grimly.

"Well, you know everyone wanted to know where the diary ended up?"

Umbridge blinked in confusion, before her mouth dropped in comprehension. There were similar gasps from around the room as the penny dropped.

"But – but all the staff were screened for any external influences on their minds! How could it have escaped our notice?"

This time, Harry's smile was much more genuine, and rather vindictive.

"Because Lockhart was skilled with mental magic. He didn't actually do any of the things he said he'd done, just Memory charmed those who did and took the credit."

Umbridge and Mrs Weasley made remarkably similar noises of disbelief at this point, and Harry caught Ron's eye with a grin.

"All very interesting Harry, but you still haven't explained what happened in the Chamber itself." Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

So Harry continued, explaining Riddle's speech, the basilisk, the arrival of Fawkes, and the destruction of the diary. Some of the details were different however. Unable to think of a way to tell the whole truth without revealing himself as a Parselmouth, which he was unwilling to do in front of Umbridge, Harry said nothing of the snakes. Instead, he told them that Fawkes had pecked out both eyes, and that after that it had been a 'simple' matter of hacking at the basilisk until it died. He also said nothing of Riddle's brief journey into his mind. He suspected he wasn't aware of all the details himself, and his mind was private.

Silence fell once he had finished speaking. Mrs Weasley was actually crying in gratitude, while Ron was staring at his friend in awe. Dumbledore picked up the diary, flicking through it with interest.

"Fascinating… most fascinating. Of course, Riddle was a brilliant wizard, brilliant indeed. He would have been of great benefit to society if he had not fallen. But to weave an enchantment so complex, and with such skill and power that it persists after his destruction… He was perhaps an even better wizard than I had believed."

"Careful Dumbledore. That comes dangerously close to Dark sympathising." said Umbridge.

Dumbledore turned to her, his eyes blazing. When he spoke though, it was in calm, almost amused tones.

"My dear Madame Umbridge, I would be concentrating more on your own failings if I were you. You have, after all, been rather outshone by a twelve-year old. How will the Ministry react to that I wonder?"

Umbridge stiffened, before standing up haughtily.

"We shall require the diary as evidence Dumbledore."

"Of course. I shall send it along as soon as I've finished my own examination."

"I will take it now."

"Oh, surely you'll indulge an old man's whim Madame?"

Despite the jovial tone, it was clear that Umbridge would not be getting her hands on the diary for a few days. She narrowed her eyes, but nodded stiffly, and turned on her heel. She paused to look at Harry.

"Good work Potter. We might make a decent Auror of you. May you be guided by the light –"

"If it's your vision of the light then I'll pass thank you Madame."

A deathly hush fell across the room. Umbridge clenched her fist, as if she longed to curse Harry for his blasphemy, but she did nothing. Harry watched her go, hoping he never saw her again. The door closed, and Dumbledore spoke again.

"Molly, Arthur, why don't you take Ginny down to the Hospital Wing, get her checked over. Madame Pomfrey should be just about finished administering the Mandrake potion now, so she should be free. Minerva, I think this merits a feast, don't you? Would you kindly alert the kitchens and the students?"

McGonagall ushered the Weasley children and Harry out of the door, but Dumbledore spoke again.

"Harry, if I might have a quick word with you?"

The Weasleys looked at him, and Harry stopped in his tracks, walking back to a chair. The door clicked shut behind him, while he gazed, uncertain, at Dumbledore. The old wizard smiled at him.

"First of all, I wanted to thank you Harry. Only a tremendous show of loyalty to me could have convinced Fawkes to come to you."

Harry blushed, but held Dumbledore's gaze.

"He was saying that he was the most powerful wizard in the world, and I told him that – well, that he wasn't. That you weren't as gone as he thought." he muttered, and then blushed some more.

"Harry?"

"And…that you would kick his arse."

The office rang with Dumbledore's laughter, and Harry grinned awkwardly at the sight of his Headmaster's beard quivering. Dumbledore eventually quieted, and smiled at Harry fondly.

"Ah Harry, I suspect he was very unhappy to hear that!"

Harry nodded in agreement.

"That was when he set the basilisk on me."

Dumbledore's smile fell away.

"Yes. The basilisk. Harry, I am most dreadfully sorry that you had to face it on your own. If I had only known…"

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, slightly embarrassed. Seeking to change the subject, he asked his own question.

"How come you're back anyway? I thought you'd been suspended."

"Ah, well, Madame Umbridge is not without influence, but when the Board realised precisely how bad things were, they couldn't get me back quickly enough. I regret not being here when I was needed, but my trip was not a complete waste of time, I am happy to say."

Harry looked curiously at him, but Dumbledore did not seem eager to enlighten him.

"Now Harry, this sword of yours; do you know where it came from?"

Harry looked at the sword again. He hadn't really paid attention to it down in the Chamber, but now he could examine it. The blade was about three feet long, and about as wide as his arm, with a square guard that curved down over the hilt, strange markings carved into it. The hilt itself was beautiful, carved from what Harry thought might be a unicorn horn. The pommel consisted of a dragon's head, mouth open. Apart from the hilt, the sword was made entirely of some kind of metal, which glowed strangely in the flickering light of the fire. His examination complete, he shook his head.

"No? How curious. I do not recognise it either, and I have to say, if Fawkes was going to bring a weapon to a Hogwarts student, I would have thought it would be the sword of Gryffindor, but as you can see, that is still in its case" Dumbledore said, gesturing at the glass case in the corner.

Harry looked puzzled.

"You mean that you don't recognise it either?"

"I do not Harry. Is there anything else special about it, other than the way it appeared?"

"Well… when it arrived, it didn't look like that, it was more like a broadsword. And it was lighter. And – and I think that it can move. I mean, I can fence pretty well, but I was blocking spells earlier, and I'm not that good, and not that fast. It seemed to know what it was doing better than I did."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.

"A sentient, shape-shifting sword. A wondrous tool indeed Harry."

"And you don't know who it might belong to?"

"Well, given that it came to you when you called for help, I suppose we must say, in the absence of any other proof of ownership, that it is yours. Since it is yours, I wonder if you might permit me to carry out a few tests on it?"

Harry shrugged, and nodded. It wasn't as if he had much use for a real sword, unless Little Whinging had suddenly become populated by dangerous serpents.

"Thank you Harry. I do have another question for you: How did you exit the Chamber?"

Harry sat in silence for a moment, thinking hard, before slumping in defeat.

"Because I'm a Parselmouth sir."

Dumbledore nodded gently, but said nothing. Harry looked at him anxiously.

"You – you don't mind do you sir?"

"Why on earth should I mind Harry? It is only a language after all. I myself speak nearly a hundred, although not Parselmouth I am sorry to say."

Harry grinned.

"Don't be. Most of the snakes I've spoken to aren't that polite."

Dumbledore's beard quivered again.

"So, is there anything else you left out of your narrative?"

Harry hesitated, before telling Dumbledore everything, about summoning the snakes and about Riddle's brief trip into his mind, about the nothingness inside him, about being pushed into his magic and then waking up. Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully.

"The 'nothingness' as you call it is the barrier of dark magic that is preventing you gaining full access to your magic Harry; I've seen it when performing Legilimency on you. It will decay soon enough, do not worry about it. As for any lingering fragments of Tom Riddle in you, I wouldn't worry about that, not with the diary destroyed."

Harry nodded in relief. Seeing that Dumbledore had nothing further to say, he got up to go to the feast. He paused at the door for a moment.

"Sir? Riddle said he knew that he – that Voldemort – was out there somewhere. Do you think he'll ever come back properly?"

"It would not surprise me if he made the attempt at some point. But we will be ready. All we can do is be vigilant Harry. Watch and wait."

Harry nodded, and opened the door. Then another question occurred to him, that he had been wondering about for awhile.

"Sir? What does 'Mighty One' mean?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Some of the snakes I've spoken to, and the Sorting Hat; they've called me 'Mighty One'. I just wondered if it meant anything particular."

Dumbledore's eyes flickered, and he stared at Harry intently.

"It is most likely just an honorific Harry; you are a powerful wizard, soon to be very powerful. I wouldn't worry about it too much."

Harry nodded, and finally left the office. Dumbledore put down his quill, and stared at the closed door.

"Great Merlin…"

* * *

The feast was predictably brilliant. Hogwarts feasts always were, and given the reason behind it this was even more exuberant. The best part came an hour in, when Hermione and Neville dashed in, throwing themselves at Harry in delight that he had solved everything. The rest of the term passed in a similar blur of excitement and pleasure; Justin apologised to him profusely, exams were cancelled (as was DADA), and the traditional Hogwarts good humour was restored.

All too soon however, they were boarding the train to go home. The journey passed pleasantly; the twins had discovered that Percy had a girlfriend, and were reacting with their trademark tact and kindness. As they approached Kings Cross, Hermione turned to Harry.

"So, what do you think is going to happen next year?"

"Shut up! You asked that last year, and there was a bloody basilisk roaming the school! Don't jinx next year as well!"

* * *

Epilogue: 3 hours after the events in the Chamber of Secrets, a long way from Hogwarts

The pendant had stopped glowing. It had the appearance of a large ruby, covered in white cracks, hanging from a golden chain. Several hours ago, it had begun to blaze with light, setting off long silent wards that had dragged the people now standing around it from their work. They couldn't work out what was more unsettling; that it had glowed at all, that it was no longer glowing, or that they couldn't work out what had happened to the sword that had lain beside the stone for nearly five hundred years. An early arrival at the scene had seen the sword suddenly just disappear into thin air. This was disturbing. The people who worked with and around the stone were not used to puzzles that couldn't be solved.

There was a heated argument going on between several of the people surrounding the stone, all of whom were dressed in non-descript black robes. They all had tattoos on the backs of their hands, of a large eye. One of the figures threw up his hands in submission, before walking away. He walked down a long corridor, with several large black doors leading off it. Climbing onto a platform suspended in mid-air, he flicked his wand, and the platform rose into the air. Five minutes later, he stepped off, walking down a rather more respectable looking corridor. There was an oak door at the end, and after checking his appearance, he knocked.

"Enter."

The man walked through the door with some trepidation. The man he was going to see was not known for his relaxed attitude. He sat down in front of his superior's desk. There was a plaque on it, reading _Silas Tulliver_.

"Well? What do we know?" demanded Tulliver.

"Err… The Eye is no longer glowing. Whatever – wherever – the outburst was, it's finished now."

"Good. And the sword?"

"Still no trace of it sir, but out detectors are still running."

Tulliver – a bulky, powerful looking man, with a pale scar running down his face – sat deep in thought. The man from the stone sat still, not daring to move. Then Tulliver nodded.

"If the sword has been called, then there will most likely be another outburst soon. I want people watching the Eye at all times, ready to react."

"Yes sir."

The man stood up to leave, and Tulliver turned his attention back to some official looking documents. The man coughed, and Tulliver looked up.

"What?"

"Sir, what – what if there is another of them around?"

"Then we'll do what we've been doing for the last two thousand years Faulkner. Watch. Evaluate. Solve the problem, however we have to."

"Sir…"

"It's been five hundred years since they've walked the earth Faulkner. I'll be damned if I'm going to let one appear and run wild while I'm in charge. We'll find them, we'll watch them, and if necessary we'll kill them."

_**The End of Book Two**_

A/N: Is that a bad note to end on? I do hope not… So ends _The Sneaking Serpent Walks_, book two of the 'Second War' series. I hope you've enjoyed it, and thanks for sticking with it and providing feedback. There's going to be a (hopefully short) wait for book 3 (An Awful Power) to begin posting; I want to get more of it written before I start posting, in the hopes that I can keep the weekly schedule I've managed with this one. Fingers crossed.

Thanks again, and remember; reviews are always greatly appreciated.

Shinysavage.


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